


6,359 miles

by acastle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Light Angst, M/M, Running Away, Vacation, brief Harry Styles/Kendall Jenner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 23:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6304624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acastle/pseuds/acastle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why, why’d he send me that?” Harry murmurs, and Nick looks up from the screen. “What does he want me to do? I don’t-”</p><p>“Idiot,” he flicks his phone back to him. “Make a reservation. He wants you to go there.”</p><p>(Niall and Harry were sleeping together, until they aren’t, and then Niall disappears into a tiny island in the East. Then he asks Harry to follow him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	6,359 miles

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](http://benwinstagram.tumblr.com/post/140151021576/narry-is-done-too-harrys-boring-ass-is-in).
> 
> My ode to my favorite place aside from home.
> 
>  
> 
> _(Edited slightly, now with a short epilogue.)_

The last time he and Niall talked was a few days before the end of the year. It wasn’t a conversation he’d particularly want to remember.

“I think we have to stop this,” Niall had told him, in as straight a face as he’d ever seen. Just after the sun had risen and the room is pleasantly lit with soft light, and they’re in bed together, naked skin kissed with warmth. They’re laying on their sides, heads sharing a pillow, and his fingers skimming over Niall’s chest.

His heart had stopped. “Niall.”

“Harry, please,” he had said, reaching out to brush his his hair away from his face. “It’s just. I’ll be leaving soon, and I’m trying to be realistic.”

“Realistic,” he repeated, the word bitter and acidic on his tongue. “I see. So. You want to stop the shagging?” Can’t very well stop his feelings, at least not right away. But the way Niall had looked at him, it made him feel like he’d be the only one who’d be having that problem.

“Harry,” Niall had said softly, kissed his shoulder to try to calm him. “It’s just that I’ll be in a different country maybe every week, and it wouldn’t be fair if you had to wait for me to come back.”

He didn’t tell him that he’d be willing to wait, anyway. He couldn’t tell Niall that, they’d never really been more than this. Best friends, bandmates who shagged rather regularly. “So. This is. This is over.”

“Haz,” he had tried to say, but Harry climbs on top of him, because if it was truly over then he’d go out with a bang. Ignored every unpleasant, maddening urge to cry, beg him not to do this to them, and grinded down on his dick, half-hard from sleep.

Niall moaned, still tries to speak, but Harry had kissed him, swallowed every word and sucked on his tongue and he was still open from the night before.

He tugged his cock to full hardness, and he slicked him up, guided him in and rode. It wasn’t particularly gentle. It was rough, and he bounced on Niall’s cock and fucked himself until they were both sweating, moaning and shouting, his own cock erect and slapping against their stomachs.

Niall had always felt good. Harry can’t really remember a time when he didn’t, even that very first time where they’d clumsily had sex on that tiny bed in Mullingar in 2010, shaking hands and inexperienced bodies, and didn't do again until this year. Didn’t matter whether he was taking Niall’s cock, or Niall’s arse would open up around his. He’d always felt good.

He felt good, now, hands gripping Harry’s love handles as he rode him into the mattress. Harry held on to the headboard and he knew he was close, and the bed was threatening to falter beneath them.

Niall came first, thrusting up once, twice, and he was filled. Harry’s arse clenched and winked around his length, and Niall had barely gotten a hand on him then before he came across their bellies. He feels the burn, the soreness as he pulls off, has a feeling his arse will probably bruise, and Niall had watched him all the while. Helped clean him off, but when Harry had dressed up, gathered his things, he’d held on to his wrist, pull him back, but Harry just kissed him one last time.

“Bye, Niall,” he had said, and he was gone.

.

Kendall calls him a few days after that. Invites him over to St. Barts, and it isn’t lost on him, how much this sounds like a booty call, of the expensive variety.

He almost says no, but he remembers that last morning. How Niall had kind of broken up with him, and how he’d broken his heart, though he doesn’t quite know if Niall quite knows that. He highly doubts it.

He agrees when she says his parents can come, and he’d cleared it with his agent, who’d explained the invite. Booty call, and publicity. He’d expected nothing less.

He goes to Miami, brings his mum and Robin along, and they go to the island from there. They eat in this restaurant in a table with too many people, and she sits to close to him. Feels his skin erupt in goosebumps when he slides her hand across his back, and it’s not the good kind of shiver.

Next day, they’re on a yacht, and she’s wearing that hat he’d given her a long time ago, back when they first fooled around, perched on her head and sunglasses on her nose and in a bikini, and she’s always been beautiful, but he had outgrown that infatuation with her beauty, been a year since he’d thought of it.

They talk and chat and they’re playing around, grabs her ankles at one point and tips her over to her back and they’re laughing, and for a moment, he doesn’t feel all too horrible. Then they’re on the deck, and sharing a lounge chair, too close, and she’s snuggling in close, leaning over him. He doesn’t stop her when she goes down to kiss him, and it’s not the exact touch he wants, but it is a touch. She lays her head on his chest, lays a towel over them, and he has no heart to tell her to. To not do any of that.

Jeff and Glenne are close by, barely spare them any glances, and his mum is, too. Catches Kendall talking to her, as if they were old friends, and it makes him feel uneasy, but he’s selfish, wants someone to lay next to tonight, make him forget his broken heart.

When she asks him if he’d like to go to her room that night, he doesn’t really think. Just goes.

.

He wakes up the next morning in a room that isn’t his own, and it immediately doesn’t feel right. Looks over and sees Kendall laying next to him, fast asleep with her hair splayed out on her respective pillow, sheets just covering her torso, leaving her legs free to almost tangle with his, her back bare to let the light shine on it.

Her body is thin, skin soft against his, and it’s all wrong. He’d never denied, how beautiful she was. It’s just not the beautiful he wants. He wants short, bleach-damaged hair taking most of his pillow, light, defined muscle on arms and maybe the slightest smattering of hair on his chest. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, blue blue eyes, strong, large hands that hold him just the way he likes.

The good feeling of being with someone for the night had dissipated almost immediately the moment they’d finished fucking. He stopped himself from coming in her, despite the condom, and pulled out after she had come. Didn’t want to finish in her, and jerked himself off before she could notice. It wasn’t a very good orgasm.

His phone rings, bringing him back to the moment, and he doesn’t let it go on for too long. Sits up, swinging his legs over the edge, then answers it, “Hello?”

 _“Fuckface,”_ Louis is ever polite, tone biting and harsh in the early morning. _“You absolute fuckface.”_

He hangs up, and Harry stares at the screen, confused, and then links upon links are sent to his messages, from several people. He opens up the first one from Nick, and his heart comes to a halting stop when he sees the pictures.

Yacht pic after yacht pic of Kendall and him being affectionate, all over each other, and there are so many. He’d had a feeling that this had been fixed this way. Didn’t get all the details, but the amount is staggering. He’s tired and exhausted by the time he’d finished the first few sites yelling about their sunny escapades on a boat, the reigniting of a flame between model and popstar, sexy holiday plans, everything all along those lines, words blurring together. They don’t mean anything.

Louis’ call still doesn’t make much sense to him. Nick’s text, though just one word, is more telling. _‘Niall?’_

Harry had never revealed to him, explicitly, but Nick is smart, and Nick knows how to observer and read people. He doesn’t reply, and he takes a moment to think about it all, trying to convince himself he’d done nothing really outrightly wrong. He used someone else to forget his pain, yes, but he and Niall aren’t technically even a thing. Never really were, so. There was nothing to feel guilty about, really. Really.

Doesn’t change the fact that the hollow feeling he’d had in his chest’s just amplified, for a reason. Makes him sick to his stomach and he knows, can feel that he’s just fucked it up even more.

“Harry?”

He turns back to look at her, and her eyes are blinking wearily in the soft glow of the room. “What’s wrong?”

he stares at her for a moment, gripping his phone tight in his hands. Chooses not to lie as he pulls on his pants, “Everything. Everything’s wrong. I’m sorry, Ken, we shouldn’t have done this-”

She doesn’t say anything, and the moment he’s out of the room is the first real breath he’d had since he’d gotten here.

.

He goes back to the bungalow he’d rented out for his family, and Anne and Robin are in the kitchen, having a cuppa. He takes one look at them, and he knows that they know. How could they not, in any case. It’s everywhere.

“Think you need to call someone, love,” she says simply, and it never fails to astound him, how she just seems to know. Nevermind that he’d just mentioned it in passing once, early on, that he found Niall really fit and cute, then never mentioned it again. She just knew.

He goes to his room, and locks the door. Breathes, then breathes deeper, and he taps dial on his phone on Niall’s name.

 _“Harry,”_ he answers after a few rings, and his voice is void of emotion. It chills him in the worst way.

“Niall, hi,” he says, clearing his throat a bit. “How are you?”

 _“Since we last saw each other, hmm, three days ago? I’m okay,”_ he replies, and it’s just on this side of civil. It’s unnerving. _“You seem to be having fun.”_

That answers his first question. “Niall, I can explain-”

 _“Ay, there’s no need to, Haz,”_ he says, and it’s approaching bro territory. Harry doesn’t know if it’s better or worse. _“I mean, it’s alright. You’ve got the right to, we’re not. You know. Not anymore. Free to be with whoever you want. And let the whole world know about it, too.”_

“Ni,” he breathes, and he knows something is wrong. Can’t quite place it, but he knows it’s really not alright. “Niall.”

 _“Sorry, Harry, I’ve got a lunch meeting I can’t miss,”_ he says and Harry doesn’t want to leave the conversation like this. _“You go have fun now.”_

“Niall,” he tries, but he’s already hung up, and Harry wants to cry. He tries calling again. Then again, and texts him when none of them are answered. He gets no reply for that, either.

Niall doesn’t talk to him for a long time. He tries, for too long and he's left with weeks of nothing. He doesn't know where Niall is, where he's gone. Rings in the New Year lonely and full of regret, he knows this is his own damn fault, but it doesn't make much sense to him, why Niall won't talk to him.

He's sure he's started his backpacking trip by now, and he fights out through Twitter via a clever fan that he'd gone to Bali first.

It's not lost on him, that they're approaching this break completely differently from one another. Niall hides himself so well, people don't even know he's gone off until a fan spots him at the last minute. Cut off from the outside world, properly. Harry just seems to get himself plastered everywhere, though he can't claim that he doesn't mean to. Thing is, he does. It's kind of sickening, really.

He misses him. Misses him so much, not even the fucking or kissing or whatever. Just misses Niall, misses him and his laugh and his handsome bespectacled face and his brilliant mind that no one seems to appreciate as much as he does.

The first month since Niall had last talked to him goes by much too slowly, something akin to a slow death, dramatic as that may sound. Makes him regret that he'd agreed to stepping into that boat in the first place.

.

He and Kendall don't see each other after that. She'd gone to Jeff’s birthday party, for like, half an hour, leaves before Harry starts the roast, and he doesn't feel anything, really. She doesn't harbor any ill feelings towards him, he knows her. They'd both gotten their attention for that stupid yacht date from hell, so it’s all fine.

He knows she's mentioned him on that show, the one that seems like it'll never end, so long as Kris Jenner still breathes, and he doesn't care as much as he should. Maybe, then. It really is over, this time. It fills him with relief.

Valentine's Day, and he's supposed to be working. His assistant’s trying to get him to read through a script for a World War II movie, Christopher Nolan the high and mighty directing, and he can't quite say yes because he knows he's going to have to get rid off most of his hair, then he receives it.

A great big bouquet of pristine white roses, lovely pale green roses, dotted with tiny purple flowers throughout and wrapped in brown paper and twine.

He stares at it as the messenger hands it to him, asks, “From who is this?”

“On the card, sir,” he answers, then he's gone.

Harry pushes the script away, can't care less at the moment about Tom Hardy and the great Branagh, and he gets at the card. His eyes sting and his chest tight and throat full as he reads the message inside: _‘Happy Valentine’s. It's not much, but it's for you. Miss your stupid face. Nialler.”_

He gets up to leave, promptly ignoring the calls asking him to sit back down so they could finish reading the bloody script, and he drives home. It’s still not properly lived in, always prefers LA, or Niall’s own place here. It always seems quieter, calmer. Maybe it’s just Niall.

He goes to his room and gets the computer on, scrambling to get it working and Skype open, and calls him. It takes some time before Niall answers, and wherever he is, it’s dark in the room, and he can’t see much other than his face. That’s fine, all he wanted to see, anyway.

“Hi, Ni,” he exhales, taking the sight of him in. His hair looks a bit darker, and he looks more rested. Skin kissed pink from the Asian sun, and eyes bright. “Hi. You answered.”

 _“Hello, Harry,”_ he says, and even his voice sounds like it’d taken a great big nap. Soothes him, to no end.

“Um. Happy Valentine’s, I got your flowers. Thank you,” he says quietly.

 _“I’m glad you liked them,”_ Niall says simply. _“One of the many you’d gotten, I’m sure.”_

Harry pauses, feels like his throat won’t let him speak. “Ah, no. No, but that’s fine. Yours was more than enough.”

Niall’s the one who stays quiet, this time. Even through the shitty camera, Harry can see that he’s contemplating what to say next, how to hide his emotions. Niall’s always been big on that. Doesn’t really say much, doesn’t like drawing attention to himself, just compensates for his lack of openness by being loud and being fun and being nice.

 _“I’m in the Philippines,”_ he says then, small smile on his face. _“On this beach province or summat. Boracay. Party every night here, somewhere, and people are nice. It can be quiet too, though. It’s beautiful.”_

“Yeah?” he says, and his chest is aching. “You’re not being bothered?”

 _“No, not really,”_ he says. _“And the sun. It’s beautiful out here, the sunrise. The sunset. Especially on the beach, it’d be your type of thing. Instagram-able, like crazy. Very much your aesthetic.”_

“Oh, well,” he swallows. “Maybe I should go there. One day.”

Niall stares at him for a moment, says, _“Yeah, one day. People will treat you well here.”_

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he says on a whisper, and he blinks to stave off his tears. “I miss you.”

 _“I - yeah. Yeah, me too,”_ he says quietly. He looks down from the camera when he says it, _“I hope you’re doing well.”_

“I’m sorry, about the pictures,” he tries to say, but Niall just shakes his head. Gives him a sad smile.

 _“You don’t need to, Harry. I broke it off, I get it,”_ he says. _“So. I don’t really have the right to be mad about it. It’s okay.”_

Harry can hear the lie in his tone. Can even see it in his eyes, the way he’s hunched in on himself. It makes him uneasy, makes him feel like things have just gotten worse.

 _“So, how are you two?”_ he asks, and Harry feels like like dying, a little bit. _“Must be getting loads of material for that show of hers.”_

It’s a dig at both of them, but Harry lets it slide. He doesn’t want to fight, not when this is the first time he’s seen Niall, or even heard from him, in two months.

“We’re actually, um,” he begins. “That’s been over, actually wasn’t really something that could even be over, if you get me. Didn’t survive beyond the boat.”

Niall goes silent again, and says quietly, _“I’m sorry, I was rude and insensitive. I didn’t mean-”_

“No, it’s okay,” he says, shrugging it off. “I suspect she is, the material, anyway. It’s fine.”

 _“You take a lot of shit for your friends,”_ Niall says, and he’s not wrong. He’s not particularly proud of it all the time, though.

He shrugs, bows his head and tries not to let his unease show. Runs out of things to say, which doesn’t really happen, with Niall. It’s unnerving.

_“Harry?”_

He looks up, and Niall's blinking sluggishly. _“Sorry, mate. Just, you know, we're more or less eight hours apart and I'm getting getting ready to have a bit of a late dinner out.”_

“Heard the grilled tuna’s great, over there,” he says, stops himself from rolling his eyes at his lack of mind.

 _“Yeah, tuna’s good, but it’s this pork thing that’s amazing,”_ he says, going along with what he’s saying because he always tries to pay attention to Harry, tries not to leave him left out. _“Crunchy, comes on those sick sizzling plate things? Great with a pint.”_

“Right,” he says lamely.

 _“Well, not really sure if it’d be your kind of thing, but it was good,”_ Niall says with a bit of a shrug. He looks off to the side, and sighs, saying, _“Listen, Haz. I hate to go, but we’ve got a reservation.”_

“Oh, yeah, of course,” he says, nodding along though he feels empty. “Yeah. Have a good dinner, Ni.”

 _“Yeah, thanks,”_ he says, looking unsure for moment, then he says quietly still, _“Happy Valentine’s, again.”_

“You too, Happy Valentine’s,” he says, his heart feeling marginally lighter, and he watches Niall give him a small wave before disconnecting.

He sits there, staring at his darkened screen for several moments. Then he looks at the flowers, knows that Niall must have had a hand in choosing them, 6000 miles or so away in a country he's only been to once, where they'd found out that Zayn wasn't coming back and they still had to put on a show, their first as a four-piece. He'd always had a thing for green and white, and the sight of it alone gives him hope that maybe. Maybe things won't stay this way, and he might have a chance to fix all this.

.

He's supposed to be getting ready for a Valentine's dinner with Daisy and Pixie and Nick and the lot when Niall calls him on Skype.

He stares at the notification waiting for his confirmation, and he sits in front of the screen, quickly checks the world clock he'd set up on his phone. A bit past three in the morning, over where he is.

He accepts the call, and he knows immediately that Niall's off his face drunk. His skin’s almost completely red from alcohol, his eyes aren't quite present, and mostly. His clothes are off, all of them.

“Ni-Niall?” he stutters a bit, and he does his utmost to not get turned on by it all, blushes in the process. “Ni, who’s with you, maybe you should-”

 _“God, fuck, I miss you,”_ he confesses, speech only slightly slurred, rough and it goes straight to Harry's cock. _“Haven't been with anyone since you. God. I can't stop thinking about you.”_

“Ni, you're drunk,” he tries, but Niall moans, adjusts the angle and Harry chokes on his breath when his dick appears onscreen, hard and flushed a deeper red than the rest of his body.

 _“Been thinking about that mouth of yours,”_ he mutters, gets a hand around himself and moans even louder. _“Always so nice, know how to suck me off so well.”_

“Ni,” Harry breathes, feels his treacherous cock harden all the more in his jeans. His mouth waters for it, wants to do anything. Everything, everything he’s saying. Would do it in a heartbeat. He tries, though not convincingly, to let Niall off, “Niall, you’re drunk.”

 _“And your dick, shitting fuck,”_ he goes on, eyes fluttering close as he thinks of it, and Harry whimpers. Pushes the heel of his palm hard against his crotch, to no avail. _“Want it in my mouth, in my hand, in my arse.”_

“Niall - _shit,”_ he says, giving up and unzipping his jeans, pulling out his fully hard cock, and jerks himself off to Niall’s words. “Shit, want to be in you. Want to fuck you.”

 _“Yeah,”_ he breathes, opens his eyes and they’re dark, watches Harry pull off and he starts going faster on himself, hand a blur on screen. _“And your arse. Holy shit. Have dreams about it, always do. Always so tight and perfect around my cock, always taking me so well.”_

“Yes, yes,” he breathes, wants to sob with how turned on he is, and it’s barely been a minute, but the heat is swirling in the pit of his stomach already. “Always, for you. Want it in me.”

 _“Want to fuck you all the time,”_ he says, voice gruff and Harry can’t stop watching him, tries to match his pace and fucks into his hand. _“Want to fucking wreck you, want to tease you and make you feel good.”_

“Fuck, I want that,” he whines, “Want all of that. Want to make you feel good. Want you to come in me, on me, all of it.”

_“Shit, want to be with you all the time. Want you. You, you, you, just you.”_

Harry cries, pushing into his fist uncontrollably as he comes, spilling white all over his jeans and shirt. Niall watches him, and shouts not much later, coming and shooting all over his skin, marking him up.

They breathe in sync, try to catch their breaths for several moments, and Harry wipes the sweat off his face with his clean hand. It’s so warm in the room now and he’s incredibly late for dinner and he needs to get into new clothes, but fuck. Hadn’t come nearly this hard with. With her.

 _“Shit,”_ Niall’s mumbling then, and he’s covering his face. Shakes his head and Harry’s chest goes tight with worry and insecurity. _“Shit.”_

“Niall?” he says quietly, patiently despite his nerves. “Ni.”

 _“Sorry, Haz, I’m sorry,”_ he says, sounding so sad and so worried and hurt and disappointed in himself, and he disconnects the call without waiting for him to reply. Harry starts at the suddenness of it, and tries to call back, then calls his phone, then texts him and even tries through fucking Twitter and Facebook, all to nothing.

Feels like the step forward the flowers had brought just took several steps, several leaps back, a relapse of sorts. He groans out in frustration, barely stops himself from crying.

.

He finds himself panicking, the slightest bit. Niall still hasn’t talked to him about what happened, and Harry doesn’t understand why. Just wants to know why it happened, what Niall meant by what he said. Said he wants to be with him, just him. Doesn’t understand why he’d say it and then, just stop talking to him.

Liam’s been sending them alerts on the group chat, telling them that they’ve got a bit more than a week before the BRITS, and that he’d been hoping that they’d come, see each other again and everything. Win another award, say thank you properly, as they should.

Louis says yes, mostly because he’s been finding it harder to say no to Liam as of late. Harry thinks it’ll be the first time he’ll be away from Freddie, so it really must mean something if he’s willing to be separated from his son. Harry thinks, almost says no because he doesn’t want to face Louis, not after the call he’d gotten from him, but.

Niall doesn’t really say no to Liam and Louis, not if both of them were going. He’d never really been one to turn them down, though he hadn’t replied to the messages. But if he _does_ end up going, maybe then Harry can talk to him. At the moment, it seems to be his best chance.

‘Alright, Payno. See you soon,’ he messages Liam directly instead of replying on the group chat, to which he responds with at least ten unique animal emojis, all the monkeys included.

He stocks up on the Kiehl’s and the wine, red, white, rosé and everything between, had Jeff send him suggestions, and he tries to get himself ready for the 24th.

It’s two nights before the show when Niall finally replies to the group message. _‘Lads , sorry . Can’t go , will be in Thailand . Won’t be able to make the return trip home . Really sorry .’_

And. That was that.

He’d sent another message to Liam, said he wouldn’t be able to go either, faked an illness that he’s sure Liam won’t fall for, but all he sent back was a message for him to feel better. It is childish, unprofessional of him to go back on his word, but it didn’t quite feel worth the effort to want to be there, if Niall wasn’t going.

He was supposed to fix things, clear the air. Doesn’t look like he’s going to be given an opportunity to do so, not right now, not when Niall seems extremely keen to not see or talk to him.

.

“Ay, so. Where’s your boy now?” Nick asks him. Sun’s shining, weather’s not too shit, and the food is good. Nick’s having buttermilk chicken with maple sauce and beignets and Harry’s having an oriental salad of a sort and a side of morsels of chicken stolen from Nick’s plate.

He frowns, stabbing at the piece of chicken he’s cut up, answers, “Last we kind of talked he said he was in Thailand.”

“Ah, don’t party in Bangkok,” Nick says, and Harry pouts at him. “What? Just saying. Last time you lot were there, shit happened.”

“As if I need another reminder of the week Zayn lost it,” he mutters; been weeks and Zayn's been doing well. Hears his music everywhere, sees he’s going to be on The Tonight Show twice now on his own, and he's happy for him, but it's still strange. It's gotten better, doesn't quite feel like there's this part of him that'd been just cut off, not anymore. No phantom limb. He’d gotten much closer to Niall, in those days. He suspects that had much to do with why he even got through it all.

“I don’t know, anyway, that must have been weeks ago,” he says, sighing. “Been months since I’ve really heard from him. Heard he went to Vegas to watch some UFC or summat, then to LA, met up with Lou then. Think he’s back here now, not sure. Don't know where he is now.”

“You’ve tried talking to him?”

“Won’t reply to anything,” he answers. “I don’t know if I did something, or. I don’t know.”

"You think it has something to do with the crazy hot Skype sex?” Nick says, no shame or embarrassment laced in his tone, but Harry turns red, wishes he’d never told him, then.

“You’re so bloody indecent,” he mutters, but Nick shrugs at him. Shovels down the last of his food so Harry can’t steal from him much more.

“Alright, just trying to get to the root of your dilemma, little baby deer,” he says, “Because if I were drunk off my face and single in a beach full of fit folk, I'd just pull one of ‘em and go to town. Drunk Skype sex is hardly the best kind of drunk sex. So, Niall wanted to see your face, specifically. That must mean something.”

Harry stays quiet, stares at his plate of greens and tiny little mandarin orange segments. It leaves him feeling more hopeful than he feels he’s allowed.

“Must be feeling weird, then, ‘cause you banged the second hottest Kardashian,” he says, and Harry groans. “I’d be feeling pretty weird too.”

“I don’t know why I feel like shit, I know I’m not in the wrong here,” he says. He’s not, because they’re not even a thing. Niall said so as well, so the feeling is fucking him up. “He’s the one who said time apart would be good, never did anything but shag anyway-”

“Oh, oh no, Harry,” Nick says quietly, softly, the way he does when he realizes something. “You love him.”

“I-”

“No, Harry, you can’t lie about this one,” he waves him off when he tries to speak. “You _love_ him. Shit. For how long?”

He opens his mouth to refute everything, but then closes it when the words he’d thought he’d say was moments away from leaving his lips. The taste, feel of them felt wrong, acidic and felt much like regret. He gulps them down, and blinks.

“I. I don’t know,” he says, and the words hurt, ache in his bones. “Don’t know when, always felt like it’s been there, to be honest. Just. Zayn left and we’d gotten closer and then we kissed in Dubai and then. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Well. Shit,” he says, and he watches Harry carefully. “Shit, Harry.”

“I wish I’d told him no, when we stopped this,” he confesses. “Just. Followed him to Asia. Lived a backpacker’s life for a few months.”

“You wish he’d have asked you to come along,” Nick finishes for him, and Harry sniffles. Wipes himself off with the back of his hand, and he’s completely right. “Then why didn’t you ask him?”

“Don’t think he feels that way about me,” he says, and Nick looks at him so softly, gently, and his mouth tightens slightly, as if he’d wanted to say something, but he stops himself.

Harry can’t really question him about it, not when his phone dings with a new message, and he freezes instantly when he sees who had sent it.

 _‘Fundacion Pacita Nature Lodge. Basco, Batanes.’_ There aren’t any other words along with it, but there is a picture. It looks to be taken from a deck, overlooking green, green hills, and there’s even a cow looming on the corner of the photo. Another message comes in, says simply, _‘very instagrammable . beautiful everywhere . your camera would have a field day . you’d like it here .’_

He clicks on the link, and. It leads him to a hotel site, and-

“He’s in the Philippines,” he murmurs, and Nick makes a small, surprised noise. “Not in the beach, some other place. It, it looks smaller, more quiet.”

“Gimme it,” Nick holds out his hand for the phone, and Harry hands it to him, doesn’t really feel like having to fight over it at the moment. He scrolls through Google, clicks on different sites and links and a few moments later, he starts rambling on, “Hmm, _Batanes._ Am I saying it right? Wikipedia’s telling me ‘BA-TA-NES.’ It’s pretty separate from the rest of the country, northernmost islands, and it’s the smallest, too. Just over 16,000 people, hmm. Lots of cows, lots of hills. Cute stone houses. Hmm, looks a lot like Ireland, actually.”

“Why, why’d he send me that?” Harry murmurs, and Nick looks up from the screen. “What does he want me to do? I don’t-”

“Idiot,” he flicks his phone back to him. “Make a reservation. He wants you to go there.”

.

He packs a light bag, much lighter than what he’s used to. Brings a separate one for his cameras and tech stuff, because he’d done a bit of recon, right after booking his flights and a room at the place Niall had sent him a link to.

Not much he could do for signal there, but they’d just gotten WiFi, in recent years. Nick was right about the hills, the cows, the houses, a quiet, unassuming population of kind people. They have good lobster and crab, apparently, cheap as well. No traffic, no poverty, the major road’s a single lane spanning the length of a few houses just opposite a market, landscape’s hardly been touched by humans. A quiet, rural place, and he thinks he gets why Niall would choose this place to hide out, for a few months. Seems like there’d be less ways for him to get hurt there, not many people to abuse his kindness. They’d be too caught up being kind in return.

He flies for fourteen hours to Manila, stays the night in the Hyatt. Last bit of luxury before he cuts himself off for at least a few weeks, gets most of his money changed for pesos. Wonders how what he considers a few quid is already worth hundreds, here, but he spends the night in his suite. His heart won’t stop racing in his chest, and he feels like there’s too much energy thrumming in his veins.

He hadn’t told Niall that he’d be coming. Only told Nick and his mum and Gems where he’d be, and he honestly doesn’t know what he’s going to do, when he sees him. Is more apprehensive of how Niall will react, when he sees him show up in one of the most remote parts of the world. Very well can’t just claim to have wanted to go there for funsies.

He ends up not sleeping much that night. Takes a quick shower early in the morning, sun’s not even up yet, and leaves the hotel before five to make it to his half seven flight. He walks quickly, looks straight ahead and tries not to draw too much attention to himself in the airport. Hard to do, since he’s easily one of the taller people around, but no one bothers him aside from the unavoidable gawk, and he manages to check in quickly, and he makes it through the security check with a little less than an hour before boarding.

The plane is small, not much larger than the private jets he’d taken on tour and traveling, but this one’s snug, meant to seat maybe around eighty people. The staring doesn’t stop in the plane, but he’d been lucky enough to book a window seat without a seatmate, so he just looks out the window for the next hour and a half.

He’s still up in the air when the place first makes him lose his breath. Most of the views he’d seen in plane windows feature cityscapes, lights and signs of people, everywhere. Here, he just sees green, green, green, almost like green velvet rippling, water kissing the shores clear deep blue and he wants to take a picture of it all, wants to commit everything to memory. He snaps quickly on his phone, and he’s never been in a place quite so. Tropical.

The plane lands, and instead of never ending tarmac he sees banana trees lining the cement, just wide enough for landings. He gets out of the plane, and sees a mountain and more trees in the view. No skyscrapers, no city. Just is. And the airport is tiny, just a small building of one story, walls covered in gray stones and with wooden doors. Looks more like a house than an airport, but Harry is already infinitely charmed.

He goes in, and the place is slightly stuffy with humidity and the amount of people trying to cram themselves in, signing in by hand in a log of some sort. He doesn’t really know, he just follows, and through the glass window in the door, he sees him waiting in the arrivals area, mostly just a corridor.

He’d know that back anywhere, though the hair’s brighter than ever.

“Niall,” he says, not very loud, but he’s heard, place isn’t all that big to begin with.

He turns, and bright blue eyes meet his, and he’s so, so, so happy.

He takes a few wide strides to him, and engulfs him in an embrace, tight and he’s held back, feels Niall tuck his face into his neck, his hands pressed on his back. Feels like he’s breathing again, after so long.

“Hi, Ni,” he breathes, separating just enough, speaks quietly because everyone’s gone out of the room, waiting for the luggage to be brought down from the plane. “Hi.”

“Hello, Harry,” he says, smiling softly. He looks so rested, happy, tanned. Arms look more toned, wearing a tank he might’ve worn in 2012, jeans shorts, trainers. Harry’s missed him, so, so much.

“How did you-”

“Nick didn’t want me going in unprepared,” he answers before the question’s completed. “Messaged me. And I figured you might need a ride going to the lodge.”

“Hired a car, then?” he asks, but Niall smirks at him.

“Not for today,” he says, smiling, then the bags are down, announced by a cheerful man opening the doors again and beaming at them all, the luggage scattered on the floor of the tiny room.

“Charming,” he says, no irony as he waits out for the other guests to get their luggage, and Niall laughs next to him, making him feel better already.

“It really is,” he says in reply, gets Harry’s bag for him and they walk out of the airport to more green, small houses, canteens of makeshift signs and no fuss.

He hails, something. Harry’s not sure what it is, exactly, a motorcycle with some sort of roofed sidecar, and he thinks he should be scared.

“Um,” he tries, but Niall’s pushing him into the seat, feels like he’s crouching with how low it is, placing his bag at his feet, “wait, what about you?”

“Behind him,” he answers simply, and the driver just smiles kindly at them both, moving along so Niall can take a perch behind him on the bike. He tells them where they’re going, and they’re off.

It’s rather windy, he thinks stupidly, They’re going fast, and he can’t quite see Niall, where he’s sat, but he seems to be chatting with the driver, who laughs on occasion and replies in broken, heavily accented English, all endearing, though Harry can’t hear much of it through the whistling wind.

The roads are small, narrow, not many cars on the streets, and they go through the city quickly, go up a few hills. Houses are quaint and simple, no buildings taller than three stories, and there’s so many trees, everywhere. Children are actually playing in the streets, and it’s clean, all of it.

Doesn’t take long before they’re climbing up one final hill, and they’re there at the hotel, more like a rather large house, bearing walls of the same large, round gray stones, steep gable roof of red, a terrace and plenty of shrubbery lining the way to the entrance.

It’s been many years since Harry had so felt the urge to take pictures of a hotel, and he doesn’t shy away from it, snapping as Niall gets his bag and pays the driver with a large grin. Harry’s sure he tipped him very well.

Niall gets him checked in, and the reception area is small too. High ceiling and it looks like home, and only then does his lack of sleep get to him.

“Didn't sleep, huh?” Niall asks him, watching him as he blinks owlishly.

“No, I couldn't,” he says slowly, doesn't explain much, but Niall seems to understand.

“Should get a bit of a kip, then,” he says, starts to lead them to his room, and Harry blinks again.

“Wanted to spend time with you,” he says tiredly, “Was supposed to surprise you, ruined it.”

Niall's snorts at him, holds him round the waist as they walk. “I'm good on my quota of surprises. Well, here's your ‘casita.’ Should be good.”

He unlocks the door, key and everything, and even the room is a bit small, but it's got the stone wall that he's starting to really love, and the bed’s big. Wooden features and the works, but the bed is really calling to him.

Niall rolls his eyes, and he could never front with him. Niall makes the short walk to the bed with him, and Harry lays down on it, eyes fluttering closed at the softness.

“Get some rest,” he says quietly, setting his bag off somewhere. “I’ll wake you up for lunch.”

“Hmm,” he hums, leans to the touch of his fingers, rubbing momentarily on his temple, then it’s gone, and he thinks he hears the door close when he leaves the room, but he’s exhausted, falls asleep quickly enough.

.

“Uh, hi,” Harry says, voice still rough from lack of use, made his way downstairs to the in-hotel restaurant and finds Niall sitting in one of the tables outside, seated with someone, one of the locals, his hair dark and straight and maybe as long as his, dressed simply.

Niall had woken him up, as promised, and he had freshened up, feeling much better. It’s quiet, serene here, and the views are amazing. Had to make a separate folder already in his camera roll.

“Haz, this is Ronnie, he’s a new mate,” he introduces them, and Ronnie beams widely, stands to shake his hand. “He’s a rockstar here.”

“Ah, no, not really,” he says, smiling as he takes his seat. His accent isn’t quite so strong as some of the other folk, but it's still present. There is this charm he finds in it, doesn’t mind it all that much. “Just a tour guide.”

“And a local radio DJ!” Niall grins, “Think I found my own Grimmy.”

“So, you’ll be our tour guide?” Harry asks him, and he nods.

“Well, Niall has been here for quite some time, he doesn’t need me so much now,” he says, and Niall waves him off with a laugh. “But I will show you around, plenty to see even though the islands are quite small.”

“Don’t doubt that,” he says, smiling. “Um, you ordered ahead?”

“Yeah, but it won’t come for a while,” Niall tells him, but the smile doesn’t disappear off his face. “Life is slow here, so. It’ll be a bit of a wait. I did order as soon as I could, so you wouldn’t have to wait for too long. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” he says, and the wind just passes by gently, and he breathes it in. Looks out, and there’s a beach a ways off. He smiles at the simplicity of it all, and he’s pulled into the conversation, watching Niall’s eyes light up at the mention of some hills, maybe a lighthouse along the way.

.

They go to that lighthouse, built pretty recently, he'd been surprised to find out. Go down to a rock boulder beach, which  makes him think, ridiculously, would make an amazing background for an album cover, with their backs to the camera. Sees it so clearly, with the wind blowing in their hair, water sloshing at the rocks, maybe a contemplative, sensitive shot where they're all sat on a massive boulder each, looking off to the waves. Fantastic. Niall takes all the photos without complaint, and let's Harry take a few of him as well. All fantastic.

They make several stops along the road, and Ronnie just chats up a storm with the people who pass by who recognize him. Niall and Harry, they're clearly not as popular here, and it's agonizingly refreshing. It’s not that no one knows who they are; they’ve seen their faces on a few lunch boxes and shopping bags in the market. It’s just, they don't seem to want much from the two foreign idiots who sing sometimes, other than show them a bit of kindness. They all offer a greeting to them, smiling, and it's all very new. Niall sometimes throws in a few words, a bit of Tagalog and a bit of Ivatan, the local dialect, and his grin never falters.

Harry has missed seeing him like this. It's been some time since he's really looked the way he does now.

The Vayang Rolling Hills up north are mostly unspoiled,  mounds of green with shrubs and cows just munching not on the grass. The slightly setting sun in the background makes the slightly dangerous trek on the narrow, steep trail makes it a lot worth it.

“Don't put a filter on that one, yeah?” Niall remarks beside him, where they're standing on the peak and looking over the rest of them. Harry's got his actual camera out, adjusting aperture and brightness and taking photos as he goes. “See this one as it is.”

“Been here before then?” he asks, lowering the camera down as he waits for his answer.

“Been everywhere on these islands at least once,” he replies, doesn't stop looking out to the view. “Don't get tired of it. Reminds me of how I'm not that great, in the grand scheme of things. Need it sometimes, you know?”

“You are, though,” he says, disagrees strongly. “You're great.”

“Ah, maybe, but these will be great, long after I'm gone,” he says, nodding towards the hills, and the smile on his face is soft, gentle. “And it makes my problems a little smaller, even if just for a minute.”

Harry looks at him, then out to the green landscape. Raises his camera again, then turns to Niall to take a few of him contemplating the view.

“Those will sell for a lot,” he mutters, doesn't turn to look at him for a moment and bows his head, smiling shyly. Harry takes even more, of that beautiful face, for his own personal drive.

 _“‘The hills are alive,’”_ he stands, starts singing and stretches out his arms, and Niall snorts. _“‘With the sound of music.’_ Come on, Ni, not much fun when I'm alone.”

“Did that too, first time here. I'm good,” he says, smiles at him.

“Well,” he says, looks off, sees Ronnie a bit off in the distance just bouncing around and Parkour-ing his way through the steep slopes and peaks. Thinks he might have pet one of the cows along the way. “Oh, he's like, doing it, like, really doing it.”

“Think he might have been Spider-Man in another life, he's really bloody quick,” he says, shrugs. “Told you he was a rockstar here.”

Harry laughs, feeling free and the sun sets slowly on them.

.

There’s no internet in his room, so he has to stay in the reception area after their dinner of fresh lobster and coconut cream octopus and this really soft, sticky, bright yellow turmeric rice, lounging on the couch with his phone in hand, updating Nick, his mum, and Gemma. It’s rather late, most of the other guests retired for the night, most of the staff as well. It’s dark out, can’t see much other than the stars above, so much more than he’d seen in awhile.

He’s in the lounge with a few other employees, manning the reception desk and doing some last minute cleaning for the next day. Harry tries to make himself small, smiles at them as they smile at him, and they’re watching a film on their small television set, something Filipino, a girl in cute glasses and her boy playing under bed sheets, in somewhat the most innocent sense of those words. At least, he assumes.

“Went looking for you in your room, you weren’t there,” he hears. Turns, sees Niall coming in looking so soft in his sweatshirt and his hair unstyled, just towel dried from a shower. “Figured you wouldn’t survive without internet.”

“I’m fine,” he pouts, types a quick reply to Nick as Niall settles on the couch next to him. He stares at the TV screen, and smiles. “Know this film, then?”

“No, but the couple’s familiar, really popular, apparently. Saw them in another movie,” he answers. He looks to the receptionist on duty who’s adjusting the volume, asks her in stilted Tagalog, “Kaye? Ano ‘to?”

 _“‘One More Chance,’”_ she answers with a dreamy sigh, “Favorite.”

“Ah, yeah, I’ve been told,” he nods, chuckling a bit, and he just. Starts watching, no subtitles or anything and with an extremely limited knowledge of the language. Just watches and Harry stares at him for a moment, doesn’t quite understand how he just seems to take it in stride, seem so completely belonging anywhere, with anyone.

“How do you - you can’t tell everything they’re saying,” he says, and Niall grins at him.

“I don’t, but you don’t have to, all the time,” he says. “Just watch their faces, should be enough to tell you what’s going on. They’re very expressive, not all that hard.”

Harry blinks, and the internet’s spotty anyway, so. He watches with him, and he was right. Doesn’t know what exactly is happening, but the circumstances are familiar.

Girl breaks up with boy after several years, feels like she hasn’t explored enough. Boy is depressed for a bit, then moves on, falls in love with someone else, girl finds it harder to do so, though she’s the one who broke it off in the first place. Boy and girl meet again, have to work together, old feelings come up.

 _“‘She loved me at my worst. You had me at my best,’”_ the receptionist’s mouthing along to the lines, tearing up when he lays his heart on the line, goes on speaking in a language he doesn’t understand, but the sentiment is clear. _‘And you took that for granted.’_

Harry’s eyes sting as well, with the promise of tears, and he blinks rapidly to stave them off. Runs the heel of his palm against his sockets to try to stop it, and Niall makes a soft noise next to him. He glances over, and he’s not crying, but he looks sad, seeing the deterioration in frankly awful definition on the screen, but nonetheless.

 _“‘I just made a choice,’”_ she tries defending herself, but for naught.

 _“‘And you chose to break my heart,’”_ he says, crying as he walks away from her.

“So sad,” Kaye’s saying, wiping her face off, and he nods, agreeing. Feels achey and his chest is tight and weird, and the words can’t seem to leave him.

They finish the movie, and it’s a happy ending. Then he groans, Niall laughs, when Kaye starts talking about the sequel to the film in rapid, overexcited English, how they got married and life isn’t as picture perfect as they thought it would be, even after the second chance around. Said she cried even more and she’ll try to get a copy for them, if they wanted.

Niall had smiled for both of them, said, _“Sure! Salamat,”_ then he and Harry leave the lounge, well into the early early hours of the morning.

“Popoy and Basha, wonder how they’d gotten those nicknames from their actual names,” Niall wonders aloud as he and Harry make their way to their casitas.

Harry doesn’t really pay attention, and he can’t stop thinking about that one line. He asks Niall quietly, “Ni? How’d you find this place?”

He glances at him, eyes bright, and he answers, “Met Ronnie in Boracay when I was there. He was my sober buddy one night, and I’m not saying - I loved it there too, you know? It was beautiful, but not really what I was looking for. Wanted to be really away from everything. Then he started talking about his home, here, the people and the quiet and the effortlessness of this place. So, I came, around a month ago. Haven’t left. Fell in love with it all.”

“I see why,” Harry tells him, and he’s beginning to feel the same kind of affection for it all, or. Maybe it’s just Niall. “So. Why’d you ask me to come?”

Niall pauses for a fraction of a moment, falters, then says, smiling, “Photographer’s dream, this place. They love it here. Thought you would too.”

It’s the smallest, most insignificant part of the truth, but Harry doesn’t push. Says good night with a brief hug, and he goes into his room, and thinks too deeply as he tries to sleep.

.

“This is a church?” he muses. Tukon Church bares the same facade of round boulders, steep roof, and it’s smaller than his mum’s house.

“Chapel, it’s more of a chapel, but it’s a popular venue for destination weddings,” Ronnie says, walking them in. They’ve lucked out, place is empty today, usually isn’t apparently. “Ceiling is painted with images of the patron saints of the six municipalities of Batanes, painted by scholars of the Pacita Abad Center of the Arts.”

“Same family who owns the hotel,” Niall adds, laughing and finger gunning Ronnie when he praises him for knowing. “Did my homework.”

“Not fair, you’ve been here for weeks,” Harry pouts, and Niall pushes his face away, snorting, telling him to take his photos already while they’re the only ones here.

It’s much smaller than any church he’d been to before, and it’s full of charm that he appreciates, though he’s not Catholic. He takes parallel shots of the ceiling, of the altar, and watches Niall and Ronnie converse quietly a ways off from the corner of his eye, looking deep and contemplative. Makes him wonder how much Niall had told his sober buddy.

Ronnie leaves a bit later, get a head start home, and Niall knows the way back, just a few minutes walk from the lodge, so it's fine. He goes to stand next to Harry in the middle of the aisle, staring at the painted background and the crucifix.

“Not been to many churches, have you?” he asks.

“Um, no,” he replies, and his hands tremble slightly for some reason. Crosses his arms to hide it.

“Hmm. I've been going to mass here, sometimes,” Niall says, just a soft passing comment. “I mean, I'm too far gone, I think, to go to heaven at this point. Don't think God’s very happy with me, but I come here a few times.”

“Why is that?” he asks, looks over to him. He hasn't stopped staring at the cross.

“Just. I don't know. Missed some sort of routine,” he replies simply. “And, sometimes, when you listen to the readings and stuff, makes you think about all the shit people went through before.”

“Don't swear in front of Jesus,” Harry whispers, and Niall chuckles a bit. Banter. He'd missed this.

“Sorry. I don't know. Times were so different then. And sometimes, you see some things haven't changed at all. Puts things in perspective.”

Harry's known for years, that Niall's brilliant. He's never quite realized how deep that intelligence ran, though. Never truly realized how much he thought and felt.

“That, and it's really quite sweet to hear the priest saying to the tourists that he'd hoped they'd enjoyed their stay here,” he says as an afterthought, smiling softly. “Makes an effort to say that bit in English too.”

“They do that here?”

“After every mass I'd been to at least,” he says fondly. “Don't know where else they do that. Make people sign into logs by hand when they go to the islands.”

“Yeah, why do they do that?” he asks, remembering that he'd done the same when he had arrived a few days ago.

“Want to know who'd been here,” Niall tells him. “Asked Ronnie. Said that they don't like taking their visitors for granted, want to remember them all. They aren't quite jaded by the world. Not yet.”

“Hope that doesn't happen at all,” he says, feeling a flush of shame when he thinks about it. Seen the whole world, and it's not that he takes it for granted. Just, they blur together and after a while, he doesn't think much of it. Just places to stop by on tour and sing to.

They stand there for another moment, then Niall's touching his elbow gently, and they leave and make the short trek back to the hotel.

.

It's inevitable that they sleep together.

There wasn’t much build-up to the moment, or any pent up emotion or any moment of realization that Harry thought he was supposed to have, was waiting and anticipating it. Just the same feelings, same person, same affection, same need and desire to be close. He’s not at all disappointed with the thought, feels like coming home, almost.

He’d knocked on Niall’s door, no particular reason other than to stay with him before it was necessary that they had to be asleep. Niall had answered, fresh from a shower and a towel wrapped around his waist, and Harry took him in, and. He didn’t need much more than that, and kissed him. Niall hadn’t needed much more than that, as it had seemed.

“Shit,” Niall breathes, and he’s shivering beneath him, and they’re both naked on the bed, and he’s trying to pull Harry closer, steal a bit of warmth. His cock is hardening in his hand, and Harry grinds against his thigh, trying to kiss him as he does so but mostly just groans into his mouth.

 _“Fuck,_ been ages,” he mutters, moaning as he thrusts down a bit harder, feels Niall getting a bit wet at the tip. “Want to fuck you, please-”

“Yeah, _yeah,_ holy fuck. Please,” he whines, splaying his legs open and lifting his hips, shoves a pillow under his arse and leaving his hole unguarded. “Stuff’s in the bag-”

Harry reaches over wordlessly, takes out the lube, but when Niall murmurs, “Condom too,” he falters. He knows they need it, he’d been with Kendall, doesn’t know who Niall had been with, but still. They hadn’t really needed before, back then. Didn’t fool around with anyone but each other, so.

Niall grabs his face, kisses him hard and long, whispers, “Don’t. Not now. Please.”

Harry swallows any words he might have had, and nods, leaning down to give him another kiss in return. Gets what’s needed and groans when Niall grabs at his arse, squeezes his cheeks and making him shove forward into him. Their cocks rub together, and he can’t help but rut against him for several moments, and Niall throws his head back, moaning.

Harry latches on to his neck, sucks on the pulse point, and Niall’s breathing gets quicker, more shallow and he starts trembling in anticipation, and Harry doesn’t want him to have to wait. Can’t wait himself.

He slicks up his fingers, and opens him up carefully, accepting all of Niall’s noises into his mouth. Gets him ready and Niall’s so tight around his fingers, squeezing and his dick throbs at the thought of being inside.

He rolls on the condom, lubes himself up. Shudders when he presses the tip, just the tip, against his rim, where he’s open and ready for him, feels a sudden wave of overwhelming warmth and trust, and the looks Niall gives him, patiently waiting, tells him that he knows, feels it too.

He pushes in properly, slowly, until his entire cock is inside and his hips flush to Niall’s, and they breathe together, refamiliarizing. Niall’s tight, amazing and perfect around him though the rubber separating them feels slightly foreign, but nonetheless. His arse is clenching around him and Harry grips his hips in forewarning. Lifts him up slightly so he’s on his knees, Niall’s off the bed, and he goes for it. Pulls out, then fucks in hard, knowing that Niall can take it, and he does, letting out a shout as Harry pounds into him.

He feels incredible, like he always has. Whimpers and lets out the right noises as Harry drives into him over and over, filling him and Harry isn’t any better. Angles himself and hits home when Niall lets out a devastating moan, almost crumples to the bed but he holds him up, goes for the angle again and again.

“Oh, oh _fuck, fuck me,”_ Niall whimpers, and Harry obliges, kisses him, tries to aim for his mouth, but mostly just pants against the corner of his mouth. Niall corrects the position and sucks on his bottom lip, then licks into his mouth, and Harry feels it, when he moans as he rams in harder.

“Christ, holy fuck. So fucking good,” he says, pounding in, his skin slapping against Niall’s deliciously. "Your arse is amazing, so tight. Fuck, fucking fuck-”

“I feel every inch of you,” he says, wraps his arms over his shoulders and his nails dig into his back. Harry whimpers at the sensation, rolls his hips and his cock twitches inside.

“Could do this forever,” he says, and it shows how far gone Niall is when he doesn’t reply with something snarky, maybe along the lines of the impossible circumstances of his desire, and just spreads his legs wider, letting him in deeper.

“God, I can’t,” he cries, head thrashing on the pillow, and Harry takes his cock into his hand and starts pulling him off to the rough, fast pace he’s set. “Fuck, fuck Harry-”

“I got you, I got you,” he says, fucking in harder, “Come on, come on my cock-”

He rocks into Niall, and he yells as he comes, spurts over their stomachs, hard enough that Harry feels some splash on his neck, his arse squeezing around him and it’s almost enough to get him to come.

“Shit, shit,” he breathes, almost wants to cry at how good it all feels. Comes to a slow stop as Niall rides out the high, and he hides his face in his neck, waits it out with him. “God, I can't. I can't.”

“Come on,” he murmurs, and he feels looser around his cock, more open. “Come on, come in me-”

He sobs, pushing in hard and fast, just on this side of rough, and Niall encourages him with whispers of how big he was inside him, how amazing he felt, how he felt so taken care of, and it doesn’t take long. He comes, rabbiting into his arse a few more times before he comes to a halt, dick spent in his body.

He tries not to collapse, fall on top of him, and the air is warm, infinitely more humid than what he’s used to, and he feels sweat rolling down his back, on his legs, down his temple. Niall’s no different beneath him, face splotchy from the warmth, hair a mess, and he’s amazing. Harry leans down to kiss him hard, holding his face close, and Niall hums into his mouth, satisfied, pulling their bodies closer together despite the heat, and they fall asleep like that.

.

It says something about their friendship that things go back to relative normalcy, the next day. They wake up tangled together in Niall’s bed, and it’s not very awkward. Niall kisses his brow and gets up, grabs his stuff for a bath as he rambles on about how the hills are going to be amazing.

Harry sits up on the bed, silent for a minute, then Niall looks back, asks him if he wants to join him in the shower, like they used to in those last few months. And that was that.

They go to a few places today. Sun is punishing, so he borrows a tank from Niall, wears his lightest pair of jeans, his sturdiest boots, and Niall slathers on sunscreen on him everywhere, laughing when he whimpers because he didn’t reapply the other day so he’s got a bit of a sunburn.

They go to a cliff sort of thing, Harry’s not sure, but the stairs going down to the rocky shore hundreds of feet below, a reef that had been exposed due to the low tide, are steep as fuck. Niall asks him with a cheeky smile if he wants him to hold his hand, but he snorts, makes him go first. Mostly for the reason that he’d wanted to snap a few pictures of Niall’s reddened, freckled back as he climbed down. The climb going back up isn’t much better, because even if he couldn’t see the ground to scare him off, it was still hundreds of feet, stairs so steep he might as well have been scaling a wall. He thought he was fit, healthy, but by the time he’s back up on the landing, he’s panting, doubled over.

Niall doesn’t laugh at him, as he’d thought he would. Offers him a bottle of water and strokes his sweaty back as he tries to get breathing properly again.

They drive by a deserted town, ruins of walls of boulders, roofless and it’s eerie, and of course, he’s intrigued. Niall sees the interest in his eyes, gets the driver to stop over and Harry’s got his camera out before the engine’s off.

Ruins of Songsong. Great caption. Ronnie explains that there’d been a massive tsunami in the 1950’s, destroyed the whole town, but as Harry’s lowering his camera out of respect, maybe fear, Niall whispers to him, “He’s messing with you to get you scared.”

“Oh, so, that didn’t happen?” he asks, heartbeat slowing.

“Oh, it did,” Niall tells him, making him panic again. “But he’s not mentioned to you that they left before it hit, so no casualties. There are a few people who’ve come to live here again, even.”

“You both, you two are shits,” he mutters, tired, but Niall smiles, makes up for the scare when he goes down and finds a lovely old lady wearing this headpiece of long straw, and says hi to her. She smiles toothlessly at him, invites him to sit down next to her, and Harry falls a little more in love. Doesn’t waste much time to join them on their little stoop.

Ronnie brings them to Marlboro Hills next, and much like the other range of hills they’d already seen, it’s mostly untouched, and there are cows just chilling, eating the grass and mooing. Difference is, the view oversees the ocean, the rest of the island in wonderful detail. Makes him feel like a king.

“He just. Doesn’t stop,” he remarks as he watches Ronnie just run down the hills and do these jumps and tricks effortlessly, doesn’t even look out of breath as he stands on the peak of the tallest hill, and just starts taking pictures on his phone, as if it were nothing. “He’s _tiny,_ like. I think he might be a ninja.”

“I think that might be another side job of his,” Niall says, follows Harry carefully as they walk down the slope. “Master ninja, radio star, tour guide to the stars, dolphin whisperer, cow expert. All of it.”

Harry laughs, but the view is incredible, makes his breath go a little short as he takes it all in. “Water’s so blue,” he says, and he’s had a thing for water, since the first time he’d been to Malibu. Seems different here, though. No air of pretentiousness or pointed exclusiveness that LA does seem to give off. Feels as if this place doesn’t feel the need to impress, because it just does, completely unaware that it can. A rarity.

“Sun’s really bright,” Niall huffs, and when Harry starts chuckling at him, he mutters, “I don’t tan, fuck off-”

“Red as a tomato,” he says, walking down further, further, and he’s on another hill. Looks back, sees that Niall hadn’t followed, just staring out to the rest of the island.

Harry finds that he doesn’t feel any differently about him. Feels every sense of affection and fondness, maybe a bit more, doesn’t matter where they are, just finds that he loves him all the same. Things he’s known all along, maybe not brave enough to admit out loud.

He raises the camera, looks through the lense, and takes a few pictures of Niall. He doesn’t catch him, this time, too caught up at the vastness of the world beneath him. Harry takes more on his phone, frames it precisely, nothing but the gentle slope of the green hill, Niall a bit off in the distance, and clear, clear skies behind him, blue and vivid.

He starts filtering one of them, saving it to Instagram to be uploaded in the hotel later on when he has internet.

 _‘Windows XP background with Irish Prince,’_ the caption will be. He’s leaving it in color.

.

 _“‘Maywang a Libro Du Vatan,’”_ Ronnie introduces the last stop of the day, leading them towards a small second entrance on the front of the large church’s facade. “In English, the Batanes Blank Book Archive.”

Inside, a large room, not much furniture aside from several shelves lining the walls, tones of blue and green on the spines of the hundreds of books stacked. There's a printing press, vintage, and Harry _has_ to take a photo, and a table with chairs around it.

“What do they do there?” he asks, approaching the books curiously. Each have a number printed in gold on the bottom of the spine. Markers, he presumes.

“All those books are blank,” he explains, pulls out one at random and flips the pages quickly to show them that nothing is printed on them, except. “The idea is that visitors can come in and write in the books, whatever they want. Prayers, wishes, hopes, dreams.”

“You come here a lot, then?” Harry asks him, and Ronnie gives him a quiet smile. It's enough of an answer, and Harry flushes, realizing then it's an incredibly personal question.

He turns to Niall, who's staring at the books silently. “You?”

“I've been here. Didn't write anything, though,” he answers quietly, and Harry blinks. Wonders why, but doesn't ask. It's maybe an even more personal question.

He finds the book with ‘201’, his birth month, birth date on the spine, and takes it to the table. He has a pen in his hand, and he wants to write, but he stares at the cover, and he wonders just how many have touched these pages, leaving their thoughts open for the world to maybe discover. It's very brave.

He turns to the first page, and there's an entry immediately, written in Ivatan. The words are small, plentiful, neat, and he knows someone had taken their time to let their words be beautiful. He has a sudden desire to know the language, just to know what it says, but.

He flips through the pages carefully, taking notes his time, reading through the ones he can understand. By the time he’s reading this lad’s silent wish that his mother was still alive, here on this island with the rest of her family on her birthday, he pauses, breathing in shudders to stave off tears. He looks over to where Niall’s still stood staring at the bookshelves, and he wonders if he’s ever going to pick up one of them and write.

He looks back down at his book, and turns to the next blank page, and puts his pen down to the paper’s surface.

_‘I wish I can tell you one day. I've been in love with you, for quite a long time. Maybe I just realized it a bit recently, but that doesn't matter much, does it? I love you. Doesn't matter for how long. I love you.’_

He finds he can't write more than that, feels as if he's not ready to accept all the truths and have to lay it out in front of him, for the world to see. He's not so brave, not as much as he wants to be.

He closes the book, stands to put it back on the shelf. Just then, Niall slides out a book from the shelf. 404.

Harry tries not to freeze as he puts the book back in where he'd found it, but. 404, April 4, he thinks, tries not to suspect or overthink, but that was the date of their concert in Dubai.

“Sorry, can, can I borrow your pen?” he asks, and Harry just nods, offering it out to him. “You can go ahead, I won’t take very long.”

Harry nods again, is sure that he’ll say something stupid if he opens his mouth, probably ask why he’d picked the book that had the date when they’d first kissed and started this thing. Tries not to think too much about it, and leaves as soon as Niall’s uncapped the pen.

He stalks off to the church’s front courtyard, decorated with red standing letters that form the word ‘Love,’ and he takes a deep breath, tries to get as much as that tropical mountain air into his lungs. Hopes that it can stop making his heart beat so fast.

“So he ended up writing?” Ronnie muses, walking up to him and glancing through the doors. Niall's still standing, facing away from them, head bowed as he writes. “I brought him here a few times hoping it would help. He's never written until now.”

Harry's not very surprised, but he stays quiet, tries not to bring up the words that had just left his mouth. Help with what, really.

“Has he talked about me?” he has to ask, and Ronnie's been very kind to him thus far. Has a feeling that Niall just trusts him, the way he seems to with so many people in this tiny island.

“He has,” he answers, “Very often. He talks about you the most, maybe, but nothing very personal. But I can tell, you know?”

Harry nods, and they aren't very subtle either. Shouldn't be too hard to figure out.

“He likes to keep to himself, so,” he says, lowering his voice, “I just wanted to tell you. Please be careful with his heart. He doesn't say a lot about how he feels, he's not very open. But he feels everything, you know? Those kinds of people are the most vulnerable, sometimes.”

“Yeah, I understand,” he says, and he _does_ know Niall. He is like that, the way Harry knows him.

.

Harry whimpers as Niall slides out of him slowly, and Niall's kissing his forehead as if in quiet apology for his discomfort, and as soon as he's out, Harry wraps his limbs around him, cuddling him to the bed despite the almost unbearable humidity and heat.

“It's hot,” he mutters, but he hides his face in Niall's sweaty neck, making no move to separate himself. Niall's struggling to get them clean, so he tries to stay still as his front’s wiped with some tissue.

“Hmm,” Niall hums, throwing away the condom and the tissues and holds him back. “It is.” He makes no move to leave and go back to his own casita.

Harry feels very content to lay there, steal too much warmth in an already baking hit room, and Niall seems to feel the same, just breathing it in.

Then. It doesn't help him very much that he starts thinking about the time before he'd come here, the weeks leading up to this. He tries not to, tries to halt the thoughts before they take root in his brain, but Niall had stopped talking to him, for a while. Doesn't know what he did for him to have to do that, and he tries, tries not to think about it, but Niall runs his knuckles, digs them in hard, up his spine, and he shivers. Knows that his thoughts have probably been visible on his face.

“What's wrong?” Niall asks him quietly. “Are you, um, are you uncomfortable? Did I hurt you?”

”No,” he replies, and he want to not ask the question, but Niall waits for him patiently, holding his gaze, and Harry bites his lip. Asks softly, “Why'd you stop talking to me? After the Skype call?”

Niall doesn't answer for a while, and Harry wants to take it back, tell him he doesn't need to answer the question if he doesn't want to, but Niall brings up his hand to sweep back the hair on Harry's face.

“I felt like I messed everything up when I got off with you when I'm the one who stopped the fucking in the first place,” he tells him gently. “I felt stupid, and I missed you. I thought I came off pathetic. It's a stupid thought, now that I think about it, but it was what I felt then. I'm sorry.”

“I - no, no, it's okay,” Harry tells him, didn't quite expect for him to just tell him. Niall doesn't look like he's about to say more, but that's okay.

It's not everything, but he knows Niall. It's hard for him to admit to his feelings a lot of the time, so he understands. And he's more thankful, really, that he's been trusted as much as he has by the person he loves.

He tilts his head, and presses his mouth over Niall's and kisses him soundly.

.

“This doesn't seem very safe,” Harry mutters, huffing as Niall snickers at him, tying the front laces of his bright orange life vest tightly. He's got his own already done in almost no time at all, and Ronnie's brought his own camo patterned one.

“Oh, the drivers know what they're doing,” Ronnie says, and they’re standing in line on the pier waiting for the boat to board. It's just a small thing, wood and it's been recently painted, but Harry can tell it's been in use for a long time. Going to the nearby island of Sabtang, still technically part of Batanes, nearly not as modern as Basco, so. “The waters will be rough, though, they're driving against two different currents coming from the sea and the Pacific Ocean, so I hope you don't get seasick easily!”

“That's safe?” Harry says, and he feels his blood drain out of his face. “You're joking. This thing? Not to insult local boat makers, but this whole thing is wood.”

“I know it's not a yacht, but yachts would probably snap in two, should they try to go against these waves,” Niall says, and Harry knows it's a dig. He's cocked an eyebrow at him, and he stops talking. “They know what they're doing. I'll hold your hand, if you want-”

“Shut it,” Harry blushes, but they both know that he’ll be taking him up on that offer.

“Gonna see me some dolphins,” Niall says, and Ronnie beams excitedly, starts talking about the time he’d been sure he had seen one of those pink dolphins, like in the shampoo commercials, and Harry’s not quite sure what he’s talking about, but Niall grins back and starts spewing off some story behind the legend of the pink dolphin. Something like that. And Harry is endeared, all the way through.

Ronnie wasn’t lying when he said the waters would be rough. They come in from everywhere, it seems, making the boat rock and ride and he feels like he’s going to fall out of the boat and into the water, but Niall holds his hand, as promised, and brings him into a conversation he’d been having with his seatmate, a teacher who goes to work on the other island early in the morning, to get his mind off of the waves. As he’d expected, Ronnie’s perches near the front of the boat, staring out at the sea and embracing the water whenever the boat flops down to slap against the waves.

They get to the port, simple thing of concrete and a bit of roof, and Ronnie meets them as they climb out, soaked but fully beaming, waving it all off and saying the sun will dry him in no time. He’s more excited to show them the pictures on his phone, blurry but very much seen-

“Dolphins!” he points out happily.

“Dolphin whisperer,” Niall whispers as they climb onto the back of a truck, benches installed on the sides and a makeshift roof overhead. Harry snorts as he steps up, barely being able to disguise it as a cough.

They drive through the mountains, roads barely wide enough to accommodate the vehicle, and right outside, untouched land, trees and foliage and the landscape changes quickly to flat, sandy plains with date palms lining the road. They stop by a village, and they see the stone houses everywhere, roofs of thatch and cogon, thick and replaced every few years and wooden doors of bright shades of blue and green, the same paint used on the boats that seemed to be everywhere. Oldest house on the entire clumps of islands built in 1887, survived earthquakes, typhoons, and change. Harry had taken well to the family still living within its quarters, and Niall the same, as they’d offered them some sweets made of coconut. Ronnie had been a mate and gotten them all coconuts, freshly hewn and a straw to sip the fresh juice out of it.

It’s jarring, to see life exist right next to the steep slope of a mountain. Schools with fields and volleyball courts with natural boundaries being the rock, the base, and no road is hardly bigger than a single lane.

Ronnie seems intent to scare him, brought them to this small church, said the old abandoned house next to it was haunted, and Niall had to recruit one of the locals to refute it and calm Harry down. Didn’t help much that behind the fairly recently reconstructed church were more ruins of the older church, old pieces of the altar and several molding, deteriorating images of Mary and Jesus and Harry had never left a place so quickly in his life. Niall had been the one to take the pictures for him, but he thinks he’s have to do a mass delete from the camera when he has the time. Not leaving anything to chance.

And everyone just greets them _“Kapian kapanu dius si cha mavekhas,”_ or ‘good morning.’ As they’re washing their clothes by hand outside their homes, or getting breakfast ready, or clearing the streets of rubbish. Niall catches on quicker than he does, says it before even Ronnie can greet them back, does so without fail, with a great wide beam on his face and a friendly nod of his head. Harry finds himself falling in love even more, walking cliché that he is, but it’s not like he can really help it.

He fills up the third memory card for the trip, and is transferring the fourth to the camera as they’re driving down to even more hills.

“Oh,” he breathes as he looks out. Been to many hills in his life, two ranges just this past week, but he’d never seen any like this. Grand, so high up he feels like they should be mountains rather than hills, and right at the bottom, the ocean, waves raging and frothing at the rocks. Grass is browning slightly from the heat, but it’s incredible, and he starts on the trail, right way, to get to the other side.

“Ni? You coming?” he asks him, but Niall’s already making to sit on the grass right at the entrance of the spot, just after the fence separating it from the road.

He shakes his head with a small smile on his face, tells him, “No, you go on ahead. Like the view from here.”

Harry looks at him for a moment, only moving on when Niall waves him off with another grin, and it feels different, here. Walks down the slope, then up on another hill, then another, and takes in the view, and the camera doesn’t quite do it justice. He tries, though, takes one with his phone, caption already in mind. _‘Paying my dues to the dirt. And sea.’_

He makes it back to Niall after ten more minutes of watching the waves froth against the rock at the bottom, and he hasn’t moved. Still sat on the angled ground, and as he sees him stalking back up to him, he offers him a smile, and a bottle of water.

“How was it?” he asks.

“Amazing,” Harry replies, taking a swig. “Could’ve gone with me.”

“Been here already,” Niall tells him with a shrug.

“Wouldn’t get tired of a view like this, though,” Harry says, attempts to take a seat clumsily next to him. Niall steadies him as he balances and tries not to roll down the slope, barely makes it. Harry catches the flinch flash across his face when he’d grabbed on to his knee, and though Niall schools his face quickly, he can’t quite hide from him.

“Your knee’s been bothering you again,” he says, and he holds on to his thigh instead. “That’s why you haven’t been doing the other hills and everything.”

Niall shrugs again, runs a hand over the scar and massages the muscle. “Maybe overexerted myself, climbed a hill too many. It’s alright, I’m getting it checked out when I get back.”

Harry watches his face carefully, and grips his leg just a bit tighter. “And when will that be?”

Niall pauses, then sighs. Moves his hand down to lace their fingers together, probably the most open display of outright affection he’d done so far. “I don’t know,” he tells him honestly, and he looks right into his eyes as he says it.

Harry wants to kiss him, here and now. Doesn’t, barely, and lays his head on Niall’s shoulder and breathes with him.

It’s quiet for a moment, then, because Niall is the best person ever, he gently points out two rock formations on the shore look like two brontosauruses bringing the heads down, necks snaking up the mountain, to sip from the water below. Harry takes several pictures, and hums as he tinkers with the filters, Niall suggesting different captions for the photo all the while.

.

Final stop is Morong Beach, where they’re having lunch in what seems like the only real restaurant on the island. He’s sure there are plenty of eateries and small cafeterias, but this seems to be the only establishment here. Simple place with the banana leaves for plates, minimal utensils and lots of fish and things that come from shells, all really fresh. They’d even snuck in a bit of some pork belly with amazing crispy skin, thinks Niall might have teared up a little bit.

The beach is a few ways off, and the waves are wild even here, getting the calves of his jeans soaked. He picks up little pieces of coral, guides some miniscule hermit crabs away from the water, and he plunks down on the sand.

What a life to live, to be a hermit crab. Have one home, then another. Thinks he's turning into a bit of one himself. Niall too.

His eyes search for him, and finds him under the natural rock arch formation, same one he'd seen on the tarp, sat on the sand underneath and holding up a crab to his face, setting it on his palm. It's an endearing image, and he snaps a picture real quick. Then he makes his way over, sits next to him and soon enough, he's friends with the tiny crustacean well.

Boat ride back is just as turbulent as the first one, but he doesn't mind as much. Find the lovely teacher lady they'd met this morning, and they listen to her talk about her plans for the summer, how she's hoping to bring her class of kids to the city and explore the rest of the province. Introduce them to the rest of the world, and Harry finds himself in awe, that people can still be so innocent about travel and discovery. Sees that same trait in Niall, and find himself yearning a bit, to have that same wonder again. Maybe he'll just stick to Niall, and he'll learn how to appreciate it all as he once had.

He looks off to the side, does a double take, and scrambles to get his phone and snaps a few quick a photos of some dolphins leaping next to the boat. Niall calls him ‘dolphin whisperer,’ seals the deal.

.

Niall's skin is still burnt red from the sun, flaking a little bit already from the aloe Harry had applied on him every few hours.

He's on his stomach, sleeping deeply and his skin is warm under Harry's palms, back freckled and he has to press his lips on the back of his neck. Rustles slightly, and he sleeps on.

Harry sighs, slips his hand beneath the sheets and presses his hand over his hip, right where he'd gripped and held on as Niall rode him a few hours earlier. His hole is still slightly puffy, sore and open, and he squirms as Harry pets it gently, and he stops when he hears Niall whimpering softly.

He'd had a hard time with his knee, paused and panted every so often as he tried to regulate his breathing, quivering slightly as he adjusted on Harry's cock. Shook his head whenever Harry had offered to switch positions, said he'd wanted it like this. He's stubborn like that, knows what he wants, and Harry would normally go with it, but he'd seen the discomfort on his face. Just didn't want to have him feel more pain than he'd already been feeling, but he knows that Niall knows his body, that he can't be babied. He understands, but he just doesn't want him to hurt.

He wonders what's in his heart, on his mind. That's harder to read, and Harry would like to think he knows Niall better than anyone. That might be true, but it's also not an incredibly high bar to accomplish.

He doesn't want those to hurt, either. He doesn't know, though.

He holds him, big spooning just this once, careful with his sunburn. Niall doesn't wake, but he shuffles back to his body, doesn't stop until they're pressed together, unsatisfied until his skin is touching Harry's.

Harry blinks away tears, and the stupid tight feeling in his chest, and wills himself to sleep.

.

He feels like the past few weeks have brought him closer to Niall. Discovers new things about him, as they walk and photograph their way through this rural little haven, eat slowly through all the seafood and beef and ubiquitous yellow ginger spiced rice, talk with tricycle drivers and shop owners and even a few priests. He's gone to a mass once or twice with him, and he's lost for most of it, but the way the priest bids them all to have a good vacation with a beam at the end of it is almost worth all of the confusing readings.

They spend many mornings just laying in on either of their casitas. Have a daily shower because the heat demands it, and they rent out bikes pretty often to just go around. Ronnie joins in on it more often than not, showing them his favorite spots and introducing them to everyone, it seems, and Harry really does feel he's a ninja, more than ever.

They catch up with the rest of the world in the evenings, replying to the people who absolutely cannot be ignored, maybe post a photo or two as they’re sat on the reception area lounges, but they don't do much else on the internet. Have a drink and share a bottle of brandy or whatever the locals have and sniffle and cry or laugh and snicker at whatever movie Kaye's got on the television, all in Filipino, none with subtitles, but that stopped mattering a long time ago.

They shag a lot, almost every night. It's amazing, and Harry doesn't tire of it, counts himself really incredibly lucky that Niall just knows how he wants it.

They talk quietly as much as they banter, and he holds all those conversations dear to his heart. Niall still doesn't reveal much about what he feels, but he is more open, and Harry knows he's trying, and he will be patient.

.

Niall brings him to a tiny shop with the same thick plant roof and bright blue windows, right across another church, and painted on the little sign outside, _‘Honesty Coffee Shop.’_

“Um, Ni,” he says as they park their bikes, Niall already walking through the wide open threshold of the store. “No one’s here, maybe they’re out?”

“No, there’s never anyone here,” Niall tells him with a small smile, already looking around for some instant coffee sachets and pot noodles, “That’s the point.”

“I don’t follow,” he says, reaching over to the little basket of _‘bukayo,’_ the sweet coconut treat they’d had in the house, to get _“as many packs as he can hold with his two hands,”_ as Niall had asked him to.

“They leave it unmanned, and they just trust that people will be honest with what they buy and pay for,” Niall explains, counting the bukayo packs. “Leave a record book here, and you just list down what you buy. Then pay in the little bank here.”

Harry blinks, “And it works?”

“Apparently,” Niall says, “Owners started out with a thermos of hot water and instant coffee mixes and bread on a little table for the commuters taking the boat to the other island. And they’ve got a shop now. It’s cool.”

“It’s. It’s charming,” he says lamely, but it’s been his reaction for mostly everything he’d seen here. This whole place just bleeds charm and innocence and trust and he really, really understands why Niall loves it here.

“It is,” Niall says with a smile. “Go get what you want, I’ve got this.”

Harry only walks off to browse the tiny store when Niall taps his bum to get him moving, and he goes for some instant coffee and pot noodles as well, and finishes off the basket of bukayo, and gets several tiny models of the stone houses, one fitting on the palm of his hand. Gets them for everyone back home.

Niall pays for it all, lists them down on the record book, and gets their coffee and noodles ready. He normally wouldn’t drink a 3-in-1 mix, or even think about instant noodles, but the place seems to call for it. Seems to ask visitors to be simpler.

“Hmm,” Niall hums, takes a seat across from him on the solitary table in the middle of the small shop. He takes a sip from the lip of the cup of noodles, and smiles quietly. “Chicken.”

“Processed and unhealthy,” Harry answers, takes a sip from his still too hot seafood flavored soup. “For shame.”

“Like you don’t like your chicken and waffles now and again,” he retorts, taking a sip of his coffee.

Harry shrugs, and they eat in easy relative silence. It really is too hot for coffee and instant soupy noodles, but he's not too bothered, and the company makes up for all of it.

He looks around, sees these stones laid out on top of the shelves, similar to the large rocks used to build the houses, and written on all of them, dates and names of people who’d been here, who’d wanted to leave their marks. Wonders if he’d left such a mark, on anywhere else, on someone else.

 _“‘God is my security guard,’”_ Niall reads out loud then, staring at one of the signs. “Hmm.”

 _“‘This store is too small for dishonest people,’”_ Harry reads another sign, and Niall hums again. “Well, it _is_ small.”

“Guess we shouldn't be here, in that case,” Niall says, shrugging. “Professional liars, we are.”

“Excuse _me,_ Niall, I am plenty honest,” he huffs, stares him down.

“Yeah, you think so?”

“I do.”

“Alright then, prove it,” Niall says, takes one of Harry’s miniature house figurines and holds it up. “Saw this in a film. If you have the house, you have to say a truth, any truth, as long as it’s honest.”

“This a Filipino film, then?” he asks, sets down his styrofoam cup of coffee. When Niall nods with a slight smirk on his face, he’s not surprised in the least.

“Alright, hmm,” he begins, taps the roof of the small house against his chin as he thinks. “Hmm. That time I used your toothbrush? Wasn’t just once. I think I borrowed it for half a tour, or something.”

 _“Niall,”_ Harry makes an indignant noise, then frowns. “Have you got no manners, or hygiene?”

“If only everyone knew just how much of a pig you are when you’re in a place for more than a few days,” NIall sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “My bathroom a mess, your clothes and shoes all over my bedroom, traces of your cups of tea on my coffee table and-”

“Alright, my turn,” Harry says, taking the house into his hand. “I kind of want to take this offer to work in a movie, if only for the slightest chance to lick Tom Hardy’s magnificent face.”

“Do it, lick him for the both of us,” NIall says, takes back the miniature, doesn’t say anything about how they both know Harry can’t act for shit, how he doesn’t know how that world works in the slightest, and how they’ll probably just grow further apart, once that happens. “Okay. I kind of hate my new hair.”

“Neon banana,” Harry says solemnly. “Fluorescent mango.”

“Would make a good band name,” he says, hands over the house when Harry holds out his hand, waiting for it. “Maybe we could rename ourselves that, when we come back.”

“Lou and Payno would rally,” Harry says, heartened greatly that he believes that they’ll be back. He doesn’t know much, but if he could depend on anyone, Niall wouldn’t fail him. Thought he was the only one. “I haven’t met Freddie yet.”

“You haven’t?” Niall says, and Harry shakes his head. “You two’ve been in the same cities most of the break. Why not?”

“Um, Louis called me back before the end of the year,” he says, doesn’t know quite how to explain it. “After, um. After that day. And he sounded mad, so I haven’t tried.”

“After - oh,” Niall realizes, breathes out as he takes it in. “I see.”

“Yeah,” he says lamely, “That’s - yeah. So. Haven’t met Freddie yet, even though I really want to.”

“Maybe you should just talk to Lou?” Niall says quietly, even if he knows it’s not that easy. Harry can hear it in his voice, the way even he’s not completely sold on what he’s saying. “It’s - I don’t know. Maybe, I should talk to him-”

“And what can you do to make Lou talk to me?” he cocks an eyebrow at him, smiles sadly. “It’s okay Niall, it’s not your problem. You don’t need to fix my problems for me.”

Niall looks like he wants to say something, but he closes his mouth again, and sighs. Harry pushes the house towards him, and he touches the roof with his fingers, leaving it on the table.

“Come on, give me a truth,” Harry says, tries to get the conversation moving along.

“Not much we don’t already know about each other, though,” Niall says, though it’s not very true at all. Probably just doesn’t realize it. “But, fine. Up until, hmm, a few weeks ago? Haven’t had a shag since December.”

“You - what?” Harry stares at him, and Niall stares at his coffee.

“Haven’t slept with anyone since that last time in December,” he says, “Then you came here, and. I slept with you, then. There.”

“Niall,” he says quietly, feels infinitely bad that he can’t say the same. It was just that one time, and they were on a break. Niall hadn’t talked to him for months after, so it really wasn’t worth it.

“While we’re being really honest with each other,” he says, “I haven’t really been with anyone since we started this. I snogged Sel and had a few dates with her and everything, but I was never with her the way I was with you. Been just you for a while.”

“I,” he tries, stops immediately because his heart is up in his throat. “Niall-”

“Here,” he gives him back the house, “your turn.”

Harry stares at him, doesn’t really want to speak, doesn’t know what he’d say, but Niall waits for him, not breaking his gaze. He takes the figurine, and he thinks of something, but nothing seems to come to mind. He knows there are many, many insignificant things he can mention, thoughts he’s had and whatever, but none of it seems appropriate. So, he tells him the truth he’d been hiding since that day they were last together.

“When you broke this thing off, I was. I felt crushed,” he says quietly. Is afraid to meet Niall’s eyes. “I was devastated. I know I didn’t say it then, and I know I didn’t show it, but I honestly felt like you’d given me up. It hurt, so, so much.”

“I’m sorry,” Niall tells him quietly, and Harry sniffs, blinks and tries not to cry. His chest is aching almost unbearably, and he thought the truth would set him free. It’s shit.

Niall takes the house, and his other hand holds his, sliding their palms together. “Short one,” he starts gently, grasping his hand. “I wish I’d never done it. It really was the biggest mistake of my life.”

He gives it back to him, and Harry doesn’t want to do this anymore. Feels like his heart’s battered enough, but he goes on, “I wish you’d asked me to come with you. You had to know, I would have followed you, anywhere.”

Niall’s blinking rapidly, then, as he hands back the house, doesn’t want anything to do with it anymore. He holds it loosely in his hand, and Harry watches him swallow for several moments, seemingly gathering his courage.

“Seeing the pictures of the two of you,” he says, and Harry holds his breath, “I felt like I was dying. I know, I had no right to be mad or anything, because we weren’t even together, but. I couldn’t help it. I stopped trusting you for so long. I was angry and I hated you and then I was just sad, and I’d never felt more betrayed.”

“Ni,” he breathes, and he feels like he’s being crushed all over again.

“I know, I know that I’m the one who broke it off,” he says, and his voice is so quiet, “I know that I’d probably brought this all on myself. But I can’t help but hope, _pray,_ god. That the yacht was just a really poor lapse of judgement, and not, like. Love.”

Harry doesn’t wait for the house to be in his possession before he says quietly, but surely, “No. Not with her, no.”

Niall looks at him, and he goes on when he can’t quite read his eyes, “It. It was never just sleeping together, for me.”

“Harry,” he breathes, knows what he’s about to say.

“I love you,” he says quietly, and Niall doesn’t say anything. “It was never just sex. I loved you. Love you, now.”

Niall still doesn’t say a thing, stays quiet and his eyes are wet, and Harry feels like with everything out there, he’s just lost, and he doesn’t know how to move forward.

.

He gets down to the reception area later that night, just having showered, and Niall’s already there, scrolling through his phone. He comes closer, moving to sit next to him, but he freezes when he sees what’s on his screen.

“Ni,” he breathes, wants to explain himself immediately, but it’s pretty black and white. Pictures of him and Kendall where her legs are draped over his and he’s nuzzling her cheek, others where they’re laid out on the yacht bench, where she’s sat on his lap in her bikini and he’s in his swim shorts, and maybe the least incriminating but worst of them all, the ones where he’s with his mum, Robin, and she’s just there with them, like a proper girlfriend.

“You love me, huh,” Niall mutters, locking his phone. He stands, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jumper, and stalks back towards his casita. “Okay, then.”

“Ni, I don’t know where those came from,” he tries, tries to follow him, but Niall is fast, always been the better athlete even with his knee.

“Louis sent them to me, said they’d been all over Twitter, he wanted to warn me. But it doesn’t matter where they came from, they’re still real,” he says, voice void of any emotion. “It’s different knowing it happened and actually seeing proof of it.”

“Ni-”

 _“God,_ are you trying to punish me for making a mistake?” he asks him, and his voice almost breaks, but he still doesn’t look back at him. “Were you being cruel? Salt in my wounds, whatever?”

“Niall, please,” he says, pleads, “I didn’t - that happened such a long time ago, I’m here now-”

“Makes it all that more painful,” he says shortly. “Fuck, I can’t even look at you,” unlocks his room quickly and closes the door on him.

“Ni,” he tries opening it, then knocking gently. “Niall, I’m sorry. I’m, I’m so sorry. Please.”

He stays there for so long, for nothing. He hears nothing on the other side, and he loses hope all in one go, like falling from a cliff.

.

Next morning, Harry finds him already in the outdoor eating area, sat in one of the blue benches staring out to the sea, and he feels his heart hammering in his chest. He hadn’t known how exactly to fix this, so he did what he could to make this hurt less on him.

He takes a seat gingerly opposite him, and Niall hasn’t done anything to indicate he’s aware of his presence. Okay.

“It was just a horrible lapse in judgement,” he says, softly. “Not love. I swear.”

Niall doesn’t move, doesn’t reply or make any sort of noise. Okay, then.

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth,” he says, and it’s not much, but he says it with every bit of honesty he has. Doesn’t need a miniature house to be honest with Niall. “And. I’ll be out of your hair before you know it. Won’t bother you anymore.”

It seems to catch his attention, and he finally looks at him, though his eyes are still emotionless and his mouth still a straight line.

It’s something, though, and Harry goes on, “I, um. I booked a flight out, going back to Manila on Sunday, then I’ll be out of this country by Monday. I promise. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Niall still doesn’t say anything, and their breakfast’s being brought out, and he’s not very hungry, but he stays where he is.

“You’re leaving in two days?” he says after several moments, and Harry nods, doesn’t know how else to react, and they sit there in relative silence for too long, food’s gone cold, and he wonders how the next two days will pass.

.

Niall doesn’t waste time. Drags them to his casita and he kisses Harry hard, licks into his mouth and sucks on his tongue and Harry does his best to follow, to keep up. Strips Niall of his shirt and jeans and takes off his own, gets them naked and it’s still bright out, lunch rush barely winded down, and they go toppling on top of the bed.

He feels like every inch of his skin is bitten and licked, mapped beneath fingers and pressed on, touched and it’s amazing, just this side of rough, just enough for him to really feel it. Feels like he’s going to jump right out of his skin, whines loudly and not giving a shit that it’s the middle of the day, when Niall licks and sucks his cock into his mouth briefly. Moans even louder when his tongue is in his arse, eating him out quickly and thoroughly and his dick is jumping towards his stomach, hard and waiting.

“Niall,” he whimpers, back arching and tangling his fingers in Niall’s hair and raising his hips, giving him better access to his hole. Niall’s mouth against his rim is warm, wet, very familiar and always welcome, and his tongue fucks into his arse perfectly, shoving in in short jabs and licking in. “Ni-”

He pulls away, and Harry doesn’t have time to whine or complain, as he’s bodily moved to roll over, and hitched up on his hands and knees, and there are slicked up fingers at his arsehole, tracing his entrance slowly. He groans when one slides into him, getting him open, and then another, and another.

Niall doesn’t say much, the entire time, and he wishes he would. Even profanities, swears and words that would make Harry blush would be more than alright, now. Just wants to hear him properly, but he stops wishing and hoping when he feels the head of Niall’s cock, condom on and lubed up without him even really noticing, and he whines long and loud, shoving back on his dick to get him inside him faster.

He almost falls to his elbows, barely holds himself up when Niall’s fully in, balls against his arse,  but he’s held up, and Niall pulls out, just to fuck back in harder. Does it over, and over, harder and rougher every time.

“Fuck, _fuck, fuck me, fuck me,”_ he begs, his love handles squeezed as Niall pulls him back on his cock just as he rams forward. He pounds into his arse, filling him up and not leaving room for anything else, and he feels incredible, perfect. “Ni, fuck, harder-”

“Oh, want it harder, then, love?” he murmurs, leaning over to say it right in his ear. Harry shivers,trembles at the change of angle within him, and he nods. “How hard, hmm? Want to feel me when you’re on that plane? Can’t sit down because you’re too sore here?”

He reaches down, feels around the rim where his cock is splitting him open, and Harry whimpers loudly, collapsing, just his bum in the air, just wants to be filled and taken.

“Gonna make you feel it,” Niall says gruffly, and the words are so good, and he hammers in, fucking him perfectly and his own cock sways beaneath him, precome shooting out from the tip, and he’s so painfully hard. “Gonna fuck you and ruin you and fill you up until you can’t take it.”

Harry nods, whines and sobs at everything, wants it all, says as much. “Everything, I want everything.”

“God, fucking, _take it,”_ Niall says, going even rougher and he’s spreading out his ass with his hand, and Harry can tell he’s watching his cock disappear into him. It makes him feel hotter, hotter than he already is in the heat and the sex, and just feels himself loosen and open up for him. “You’re so tight, so tight around me-”

“Only for you,” he breathes, tries to catch his breath as he’s fucked, “just for you.”

“You love it,” he mutters, grip on his hips just on the verge of pleasure-pain, and he revels in it, spreads his legs wider.

“I do, fuck, _fuck,_ Niall,” he says, and Niall makes it last forever, he feels like. Drives his cock in and in and filling his arse and pounding him into the mattress and into some other dimension, and Harry latches on to it. Knows it’s real, knows this is probably the most he’ll be getting, and he just holds on, holds out for as long as he can.

“God, Ni,” he says, and he’s dangerously close, and Niall hears him, and goes even harder and faster. He clenches around his length, and he’s done, sobbing and yelling, spilling over the sheets beneath him, untouched, and Niall doesn’t stop, just pummels in quicker, and it feels to good for Harry to want it to stop.

“I - _shit, Harry,”_ he gasps, sounds desperate and close, and Harry squeezes around him again despite his sensitivity. He groans, pulls out at the very last second and strips off the condom, comes in hot streaks across his arse cheeks, on his back.

He flushes despite himself, and Niall must feel similarly. He freezes behind him, and says quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“I - no, no, it’s amazing,” he says, tries to hide his flaming cheeks on the pillow, and Niall’s wiping his spunk off off him gently with a damp flannel from somewhere, and he’s being turned over to his back carefully, and Niall’s cleaning off his front tenderly with soft swipes.

“Not, not just that,” he says, and his voice is vastly different from just a minute ago, quiet and soft. “I was too hard on you.”

“No, I-”

“Harry,” he says, looks straight into his eyes, and he feels like his chest is too big, then. First time they’d looked right at each other in the past half hour of shagging. His eyes are shining, kind, and Harry leans up to kiss him chastely.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I’m still mad about the pictures. But I know it’s not your fault.”

“Niall,” he whispers, and Niall closes his eyes. Looks down again and finishes cleaning him off, and Harry wants to hold him.

“So hard to look at your face,” he admits painfully, his voice wavering, and Harry’s heart breaks. “I know it’s not your fault, but it still feels like betrayal.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologizes then, and he tries to sit up, but his arse twinges, and he winces. Niall notices, and makes him lie down, and spoons him instead. Pulls the blanket over their bodies even though it’s really bloody hot and humidity is the worst thing and they’re covered in sex sweat, but Harry doesn’t protest as a soft kiss is pressed behind his neck.

.

The last two days are spent inside Niall's room with room serviced meals and staying in bed. Not even solely fucking or rolling around, just. Staying there. They talk a bit, avoid obvious elephants in the room, and Harry knows it's not quite possible, to go back to the way things were a few days ago, before his fucking stupidity and lapse of judgement caught up to him. But Niall tries to keep him smiling, and Harry does the same for him, and things are gone to shit, but he still feels the same about him. Doesn't think that will change.

They're cut off from everything else, for two days. No internet, no messages from Nick or his mum or Gems, but his mum had cried through a voice call a bit after he'd booked his plane,  saying someone hacked into her iCloud, but Harry doesn't know. Tried to comfort her, said it wasn't her fault after he'd apologized and apologized. But. Doesn't care anymore, can't afford to think about it when he's got so little time left.

Then it's the night before his flight. He has to be up by five to make his flight, so. Of course, he and Niall don’t rest to have him ready for it.

They remove the little clothing they'd had on, and Niall gets him open with his fingers, not taking very long because he's still loose from earlier on.

He climbs on top of him, guides his cock to his arsehole and pushes him in, in, until he's fully inside and Harry's bum is settles on his lap.

Harry means to ride him, fuck himself on his cock hard and rough like the past two nights, and he leans over, adjusting around Niall’s length and setting his hands on either side of his head and goes to work himself down, and he’s just started when Niall holds his wrists, grip loose and he’s looking right at him, says softly, “Harry, slowly.”

“What? Why?” he asks, and he tries not to stare into his eyes. Looks at his chest instead, and he tries to go faster, but Niall sits up then, momentarily throwing his off, but he’s quick to stop him from slipping off. Grips his hips, squeezing at the soft flesh of his love handles and holds him close, pulling him near until their chests are flush together.

“Harry,” he murmurs softly, tries to tips his head down so he can look into his eyes, and Harry is suddenly very uncomfortable, chest painfully tight and he doesn’t want his vulnerability seen. Knows it shows most in his eyes, doesn’t want Niall’s pity or whatever, so he shakes off his hands, and tries to get off from this position, but it’s too intimate.

“Harry,” he tries again, gentler still, and his touch is softer than his voice. “Harry, come on-”

“No, no,” he shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to climb off of him. Won’t do this if Niall wants it like this. He’s gone far enough. “I don’t want-”

Niall doesn’t make to stop him, lets go immediately and doesn’t force it. Just says quietly, “I’m sorry, I just. I wanted it to be different from the last time, last year. Just want it to last. I’m sorry. We can do it however you want.”

Harry can’t move, and his heart isn’t doing him any favors. Feels like it’s going to beat right out of him, and his eyes sting and he closes them, keeps the tears in and he wants it like that, too. Wants what Niall wants and wants it to last, just stay here with him and make each other feel good and he feels like he can’t admit it. Feels like he’ll just break and he won’t know what to do, then, when he can’t will himself to leave.

“Harry?” Niall prods, voice still soft, and he’s still hard inside, but he’s patient, holding his waist, and gaging what he wants to do. “Do you want me to lie back down?”

Harry looks at him then, and he can’t quite handle the gentle, tender shine of his eyes, the softness of his expression, and he sees everything, wants it all.

“Don’t, don’t look at me like that,” he says, and his chest goes unbearably warm, heart beating right out of him and making him hurt when Niall touches the hinge of his jaw in the most careful motion, grazes the very tips of his fingers.

“Like what?” He tilts Harry’s head down slightly to meet his, and gazes right into his eyes, and Harry sees truth and affection and everything he wants. “I don’t know how else to look at you.”

He barely holds his whimper in, but he has to hide his face in his neck, feels ridiculous for it. Niall just holds him, waits and presses his lips on his shoulder, running his hands over his back, and Harry latches on to him, loops his arms over his shoulders and stays there for several prolonged moments, still sat on his dick, but neither of them move.

“Do you want to stop?” Niall asks him after minutes, and Harry shakes his head, embraces him tighter. “Okay. Tell me how you want to do this.”

“I,” he begins, but his voice comes out so soft and he’s trembling, and Niall holds him through his shaking. He calms him gently, and Harry tells him the truth. “Slow. I want it slow.”

Niall pauses, and murmurs, “Alright. Slow.”

He holds his hip with one hand, reaches behind to grasp the back of his neck with the other, and Harry holds him still, very close, and Niall makes thrusts upward, filling him and shoving his cock into him in slow, careful motions.

Harry whimpers, his own erection rubbing up against their stomachs, and he takes it, his hole just opening up for him and clenching around his length every now and then. He buries his face in his neck, breathing him in as he’s fucked with rolls of his hips, languid and smooth and perfect.

Niall’s careful, he always is, but right now, he holds him gently, kisses him with soft presses of his lips and it’s amazing. The way he fucks into him, fills his ass and leaves no room for nothing else, it’s all devastatingly good, and he wants it to last.

He keeps on moaning, keeps uttering these soft _“uh-uh-uh’s”_ as Niall pushes into him, pounding slow but hard, harder then, and he takes it all. Takes him again and again and Niall doesn’t stop praising him in hushed tones. Doesn’t stop telling him how perfect he is, around his cock and in general, how good he feels and how he’s doing so well, how much he loves it.

Harry doesn’t want the words to stop, wants to keep listening, wants Niall to keep on talking. Wants his heart to just melt into Niall’s, is so willing to give it to him and stay with him, wherever he goes.

They keep on going, fucking in that same position for so long, and then, he comes out of nowhere, cock shooting white from the tip and getting them filthy, and Niall waits for it to pass. Harry feels like his skin, the entire expanse of it, is tingling with his high, and the cock in him just makes it all the more intense.

Niall fucks in then, knowing exactly when Harry was ready for it, pushing up harder and just the slightest bit faster, and Harry knows he’s close. He squeezes around him, pumps his hips in tiny figure eight motions, and drags the orgasm right out of Niall, making him moan and gasp as he shoves up, ringing it out in him.

Harry breathes, getting his breath back in control and still clinging on to him, his arms tight over his shoulders, and he rests his head against his. Niall is presumably doing the same, feels his chest move beneath his in great heaves, his hands running up and down his back in soothing sweeps. He looks out the window, and he isn’t very surprised to see the sky’s not as dark as it was when they’d started.

“Are you okay?” Niall asks him, pulls back slightly to look at him. He’s still got the same expression in his face, his eyes. Still so tender and full of affection.

“I’m well,” he replies quietly, and he is, but. “Just. My chest feels all tight. Like. There’s too much in it, everything feels too big.”

“Mine too,” Niall says, understanding right from the start like Harry knew he would. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” he says softly, and it’s painful, almost can’t take it. Then Niall starts kissing his chest, pressing his lips over his heart, over where it hurts, as if to get rid of the feeling, and Harry lets himself cry a little then. Lets a few tears leak out, and they need to clean up, he needs to get off of him, the cock in his arse feeling uncomfortable now, but they don’t move.

He’s had it on his mind, for so long, since he’d first seen it, and he has to ask. “You remember that first film we saw here? What she said?”

“Remind me,” Niall tells him, but the look on his face tells Harry he knows exactly what he’s talking about.

“That line,” he says. “You know. You had me at my best, and you’d seen me at my worst. You’d stayed, throughout all of that, and then, you left when we took the break.”

Niall stays silent, gives him all his attention. Harry breathes, asks, “What changed?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. Doesn’t look away, doesn’t show any shift in his expression. Just answers clearly, “Nothing.”

Harry doesn’t believe him. Not with everything that’s happened. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” he just tells him, doesn’t take anything back. Pulls his face down to kiss him gently, repeats in a softer voice, “Nothing. Nothing had changed, not for me.”

.

Harry leaves just when Niall had fallen asleep. Goes to his room and packs and leaves.

He’s back in the tiny airport before the sun really rises properly, and he goes through security, hands in his luggage at check in, and he goes to the waiting area, not really resembling an airport in the least, and more like a beach villa lounge area. Not many people are flying out this early, he’s one of the few in the already small room. A morning news program is on the television, this cute bloke with these eyebrows and a smile is with some kids on the streets, and Harry doesn’t pay much  attention.

He feels like it’s an end. A proper one, this time, and it’s painful, and he’s done his share of crying the past few hours. But he doesn’t regret any of it. Coming here and following his heart, seeing him and seeing this place, meeting these people and finding that he loves it all. Loves Niall just the same, maybe even more, and it hurts, but he really wouldn’t have done anything differently.

It feels like he’d gotten a real goodbye, this time. A proper final thing and at least, now, he’s had more closure. Knows that there are still too many things he doesn’t know, can’t quite explain, but in time. For now, he feels okay.

Someone announces over the speakers that it’s begun raining lightly, though he knows now that’s not very good news, not here where typhoons are almost a regular thing, and the flight’s been delayed for a half hour at least, apologizing for the inconvenience.

Harry sighs, and tries to get himself comfortable, tries not to think too much. Brings out his phone, still useless here other than for pictures and editing, takes a glance at his camera roll and sighs again when he sees too much blonde hair and reddened skin, much more than the green landscapes or native architecture.

He decides to just watch the cute lad, his name flashed beneath quickly as he starts another live report from another location, and Harry wonders how he got to be named ‘Atom,’ and it’s not like time passes by in a flash, but he’s feels like he’s going to be okay.

It’s when someone sits right next to him, even though there are plenty of unoccupied seats in the room, when he starts feeling a little impatient, wants the time to just stew on his own. Turns in his chair to tell his new seatmate that he’d prefer to be alone, and he stops, losing his words instantly.

“He’s cute,” Niall remarks quietly, looking at the TV screen briefly before he looks down on the floor, doesn’t look to Harry once.

“I - You’re not supposed to be here,” he blurts, and of course that’s the first thing he says. “I. Sorry. Just meant, the security and everything-”

“Ronnie called a few people,” Niall says, still doesn’t look over. “Told you he was my Grimmy.”

He doesn’t know what to say, much less what to do. Just looks at him and watches him as he slouches over, rests his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands together, staring at the ground. His hair’s soft and a little frizzy, his joggers and hooded sweatshirt slightly damp from the rain. Harry wants to hold him close, never let go.

“Niall?” he prompts gently, and he makes no move still, and it’s silent for many moments, just the hum of the television heard.

He doesn’t move, but he speaks quietly, “I didn’t tell you the whole truth, then. When you asked me why I asked you to come.”

Harry doesn’t make a sound, and his hands start trembling a little.

“I asked you to come because I wanted to see you,” he admits finally, and Harry thinks he’d always known, but it’s still different, hearing it. “Wanted to be with you here, in a place I trusted. Wanted to see you fall in love with it too and maybe fall in love with me.”

He pauses, wringing his hands, and Harry can’t hear anything else. Nothing really registers in his head, aside from Niall’s words.

“It’s stupid, to think that a place can make you do that,” he continues, though Harry doesn’t think it’s stupid at all. “But. I should have known. It was never the place, you know? It was you. Just you.”

Harry blinks repeatedly as Niall takes another pause to breathe, his shuddering breath echoing in the room. “I should have asked you to come with me in the first place. I know that now, and. I’m sorry. Sorry being being such a shit.”

His words grow softer, but clearer still, and it begins to waver slightly. Harry wants to hold his hand, but he refrains, lets him finish. Knows how hard it is for him to admit everything so openly, lay his cards on the table and leave himself exposed.

“I’m still fucking hurt, but you’re right,” he says, voice tight as he speaks. “It happened a long time ago, and I overreacted, but it doesn’t matter. Not anymore, because you followed me, and that should have been more than enough, for me to know that you do love me.”

He takes a long pause then, and Harry realizes that Niall had started crying silently, his shoulders shaking and his eyes screwed shut, tears leaking out from the corners. He doesn’t try to hide it from him, but he shies away from Harry’s hands, attempts to wipe the evidence away, attempts to comfort him.

“I'm in love with you,” he says, and it’s steady, sincere and Harry’s heart jumps to his throat. His eyes well up, and Niall goes on, “When I told you nothing changed, nothing really did. I’ve felt the same way about you for so long. Maybe my fear is what changed. Got stronger, but. Been in love with you for years and I don't know where this will take us, where it will take me, I don’t know. I don't know what will happen but I never say anything, never asked you to stay and you always go.”

And he does. Always leaves because he didn’t think Niall wanted him for much more than that.

“That's my fault,” Niall says, admitting to it and he lowers his head further, sniffling and hunching in on himself. His words are still calm, though, still strong and he doesn’t falter. “I was afraid, and you were so beautiful and great and I was scared to ask for more, but I want to try now. I don't know if it will make you stay, but I'm going to try because I don't like hiding truths from you.”

Harry cries then, feels like his heart is going to blow right out of him and it’s everything he’d ever wanted to hear and it’s making him so much happier than he thought it would. Been waiting so long.

It says a lot about Niall, the way he cries. He doesn’t like drawing attention to himself, hates making a scene, so the way he’s crying now, quietly, crouched over, deep shuddering breaths between soft words, says so much about who he is. Makes him realize how different they are, as different a they are similar. Harry is loud and obvious and attracts too much attention to himself, and Niall just isn’t that. He loves him for it, so much.

“I want you to stay with me,” he says, and he sounds scared though his tone is still even. “I want to follow you, I want you to follow me. It doesn’t, doesn’t have to be here,” he stammers through his words, shaking and his breath shuddering. “I’ll follow you wherever, just. Please, let me stay with you.” He glances to him, eyes red and face wet with tears, but his emotion is clear, his intentions true. “Please stay with me, please choose me.”

He goes quiet then, and he looks back down to the floor, and closes his eyes again. He trembles again with a new wave of tears, still silent.

Harry cries along with him, and he’s speechless. And he pieces it together. Louis knew, somehow, when he had called him then and acted the way he had around him, when he’d sent all those pictures to Niall. He knew Niall told him, or maybe found out another way, but. He knew. And Nick, he’d probably had an inkling about this as well. Couldn’t tell Harry for whatever reason.

He finds that he doesn’t care much, for those details. He cares much more about the man in front of him, who’d just laid his heart on the line when he’s not used to doing so, and asked him to stay. Finally asked.

“Niall?” he says softly. “Please, please look at me.”

Niall lets out the smallest sob at that, barely heard, and Harry wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t seen the way his mouth moved. He does as he’s asked, though he doesn’t move from his crouched position, and his face is all splotchy and wet and his eyes are too shiny and Harry loves him.

He leans down, holds his face gently in his hands, and says as his answer, “You finally asked. That’s all I wanted from you. To ask me.”

Niall looks as if he doesn’t believe what he’s hearing, overwhelmed and he blinks rapidly as he begins crying again, still silent.

Harry smiles, and he feels like this is where they’re supposed to be. Leans forward and kisses him, tastes salt on both their lips, and just kisses him deeper.

“You’re shaking,” he comments quietly, feels it as he holds Niall’s body close to his.

“I’m happy,” Niall replies, and. He is, as well.

.

_(thus.)_

They go back to the  _Maywang a Libro Du Vatan_  a few days after,and Niall goes to mass. He cocks an eyebrow at Harry when he tries to follow him inside, and shoos him away.

He understands immediately, and he goes to the other door. No one's there, for the moment, and he goes to the shelves,  and pulls out book 404. It doesn't take very long to find Niall's familiar loopy writing, though it's not very neat, this time. Words are scratched, several of them, and he knows it's because he'd tried to make his words flow exactly the way he wanted them to. He falls a little bit more in love, as he reads what he'd written, his eyes welling up and a small smile spreading on his face.

_‘I love this place. I love the way it makes me feel, the way it’s given me so much. I love my life here, I love the way I am here. I’ve liked myself more, ever since I’d come here. But I love you more. I’d follow you wherever, if you’d let me.'_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is the approximate distance between London, England, and Basco, Batanes.
> 
> _(Hope it's better now.)_
> 
> For the filos, especially. And the Asians. Mabuhay.
> 
> I am [here](http://castlestylan.tumblr.com).


End file.
